


Wounded Healer

by alisonsmith3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Auror Harry Potter, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fluff, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Muggle London, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 123,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisonsmith3/pseuds/alisonsmith3
Summary: "Are you always this awkward when leaving a crime scene or are you used to the damsels in distress throwing themselves at your feet as you leave? Trust me, Potter, I'm no damsel."Harry rolled his eyes but a knowing look lit Malfoy's eyes when Harry scrubbed the back of his hot neck. "It's not always damsels," he muttered out.Malfoy screwed up a brow. "Oh?"The war has taken a great toll on many. Some people can’t seem to move forward, others don’t know how to sit still. All wounds are deep, even the ones that can’t be seen. However, sometimes it’s only the people who have been through similar situations who can truly help heal.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 152
Kudos: 1000





	1. Damsel in Distress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing was just a stream of thought writing. I have no idea how I wrote this much in a few months. Half of it was written in the notes of my phone. There are a lot of grammar mistakes but I'm working on fixing them. Hope you all enjoy.

Harry scowled at the clock above the bar. He wasn't sure if he was reading the hands right; the two pints of beer and three shots of whisky were spoiling his naturally impaired sight. Considering the slurred songs coming from the table of rugby players, it was likely past time to leave.

He threw down enough for the tab and a tip, then slid off the barstool. He wobbled a little and had to grasp the counter to get his bearings. The sharp jolt in his thigh told him that his lack of coordination hadn't been from the drinking, though the bartender gave him an apprehensive look. He'd gotten into a bit of a scrap with their suspect that day, but he didn't bother going to the infirmary. He'd gotten hit with far worse before. It was likely just a pulled muscle.

"Need me to call ya a taxi, sir?" asked the bartender as he watched Harry hobble to the door.

Harry waved a hand, not bothering to look back. "I'm fine." Walking would probably do his leg some good. "I'm walking home."

A shattering sound pulled the bartender's attention to the rugby players. Harry slipped out the door. As promised, he began to walk home.

Home. 

Harry didn't really consider Grimmauld Place home. He hadn't felt at home anywhere since Hogwarts, and, after seeing so much death within those walls, he couldn't bring himself to return for his last year like Hermione. He didn't need to anyway. Kingsley had allowed anyone who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts to become an Auror – with or without scores. Becoming an Auror had seemed only right for him. He had defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time. Why wouldn't he continue?

It had been two years since the war. Things were good. Ron and Harry were Aurors, and Hermione was still fighting for house-elf rights, now from within the ministry as part of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was everything he had wanted for them after the war.

Of course, he hadn't been expecting to be alone. Things had gotten rough between him and Ginny after her brother's death. It was understandable. Harry could still feel a pang in his chest when he went past the darkened storefront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Not to mention she still had two years left at Hogwarts, and long-distance just hadn't been working for them - it did make things awkward when he visited the Burrow, though.

Still, it was better for them this way. At least he didn't have the same problems as many other Aurors who had to go home to their significant others and couldn't tell them anything that was going on at work – and their job was certainly the type to follow one home.

Harry was still amazed by Robards' ability to just flip a switch when his wife occasionally popped by the office as if he had no worry at all. Harry wasn't sure he would ever be able to do that.

Harry was only a block from Grimmauld when the familiar, purple neon lights touched his face. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head forward, but his eyes slid to the building across the street.

There was a decent-sized line outside for a Thursday night. This muggle club always drew an impressive crowd, especially since it consisted only of blokes. Occasionally they'd have big events, and the line to get in would wrap around the block. Harry didn't think there were that many gay men in England, let alone just in London.

He didn't have a good gauge, though. He'd gone to muggle school up until he was eleven, and even if he had met a gay child, then he certainly didn't know it.

He also wouldn't put it past the Dursleys to have purposefully shielded him and, more importantly, their own son from any hint of that lifestyle. Hogwarts itself obviously wasn't the most diverse place. He wondered about Seamus and Dean a few times, but he always had so much going on that he couldn't ponder it for long.

No, his only real education of homosexuality was walking past this club every night. He was careful not to appear outright curious. He'd made a complete, stuttering fool of himself when one of the patrons had caught him staring and invited Harry to join him inside. After that, he made sure to make his glances fleeting and pondering as inconspicuous as possible.

There were all types of people who walked in and out of that place. Big. Small. Old. Young. Very few of them actually fit the flamboyant picture that popped in his head when he thought of a gay man. They all just looked like regular guys.

Harry would have thought it was a normal, popular club if they weren't walking into a building with a rainbow flag secured over the entrance.

Passing the club was really the most interesting part of his nights. After work, he'd shed off his robes, take a shower, dress into muggle clothes, and go to the bar until he was intoxicated enough that he hoped he'd get a good nights' rest.

It worked on occasion. He never drank enough that he couldn't find his way home, which was really what it took to knock him out. Of course, he could buy some bottles to keep at the house, but the less time at Grimmauld, the better. He had a strange feeling that the feelings were mutual.

This night was no different from all the others, although he did consider grabbing the bottle of Fire Whiskey from the kitchen to nullify the pain in his leg before going to bed. If only he didn't have work the next day. It was tough to be an Auror with a hangover.

No sooner had Harry trekked up to his bedroom - the same one he and Ron had shared once upon a time - and slumped onto his bed, then did his brain cells unanimously chant "Fuck it," and he went down to the kitchen.

They had just finished a case, after all. The next day would just be filling out the paperwork for it. He could do that under the influence of whatever headache relief potion he decided to take in the morning.

\---

"Late night again?" Ron asked, the nag of concern in his voice. That concern had been slowly growing lately whenever Ron or Hermione talked to him. It was pointless, though. He was fine.

Harry pulled his head up from his desk to rest it in his palm. He looked up at Ron though his eyelids felt like lead weights, which threatened to fall back down. "Just a home remedy for a few of those bruises Knox gave me."

That was the wrong thing to say. Ron's worry doubled. "You didn't have that checked out at the infirmary."

Harry waved his hand. "Like I said, it was just a few bruises. I'm fine. It just made it a little uncomfortable to sleep."

"You know, some Arnica would fix that right up for you," said Neville, who had just gotten back to his desk.

Harry and Ron weren't the only ones who had taken up Kingsley's offer. Longbottom had probably been the most surprising addition to the office, but only if you didn't know him. In all honesty, he was just as likely to be there as Harry was, if not more so. Both of his parents had been renowned Auror's in their day, and he could have easily been the one in Harry's shoes all those years ago if Voldemort had deciphered the prophecy as referring to him instead of Harry, not to mention that he'd been instrumental in taking down Voldemort. Longbottom certainly belonged there; it didn't mean his old interests had disappeared, though.

Harry shot a hand in the direction of the plant-loving boy. "See! Who needs an infirmary when we have an herb savant right here?"

Both Ron and Neville rolled their eyes, but at least Neville was smiling.

Ron lowered himself closer to Harry, dropping his voice. "Hey, 'Mione's been pestering me to introduce you to Mary, that pretty blonde she works with. How about we take a break and go down there later?"

Harry was too uncomfortable to resist making a face. Mary was nice, but she was rather mousy for Harry's taste. There was also the fact that he didn't really feel like dating.

Ron looked ready to pop. He was so done with being gentle. Hermione kept telling him that they needed to let him figure it out for himself, but this wasn't a homework assignment or a puzzle, it was his life, and he was wasting it away on work and liquor. Ron couldn't watch his friend like this anymore. It was bad enough having to go home to see George's forced smiles or Ginny's empty room as she refuses to visit for anything but holidays anymore, too concentrated on her Quidditch career.

Just as Ron went to open his mouth, a folder landed on the desk between them. They both snapped their attention to the head of the Auror's department. "Everyone's busy on their own cases, but I've got a report of an Unforgivable Curse in a mostly muggle area."

"Mostly?" Harry asked, already standing up to secure his wand in its holster.

"There's one wizard registered in the area. My books say it's an Ex-Death Eater."

"No such thing," Harry grunted bitterly. "Just ones that were too slippery to catch the first time."

"Most of them are snakes," Ron added, pulling on his cloak.

"Here's the address," Robards handed Harry a half sheet of paper with an address scribbled on. "Apparate, it's quicker than finding the right Floo. And hurry before any muggles get hurt."

The pair didn't need to be asked twice. Harry was still pulling on his cloak when he grabbed Ron's arm and apparated. They lurched, clinging to one another's arm as they straightened out. They were in a stairwell. Harry looked down at the slip of paper Robards' had given him. It looked like an apartment - there were definitely muggles nearby. He took a mental note of the numbers (3B) and began to bound up the steps towards the third floor, muttering the room number on repeat to himself as he went.

They reached the apartment. Harry's head spun from the sudden movement – he was still thoroughly hungover. He raised a fist to knock but paused when he noticed the door was ajar. There was a loud crash from inside. Harry jumped into action, his previous fatigue falling away as adrenalin rushed him. He shoved past the door, ignoring how it slammed the wall behind it. Ron followed suit.

The sight inside caught Harry off his guard. Terry Skeres, who Harry recognized as being a Gryffindor a year above him, stood with his wand pointed at a bloodied Draco Malfoy who lay on a bed of broken glass that appeared to have once been a coffee table.

Instinct said to restrain Malfoy first. Auror training noted that Skeres was the current hostile threat and should be the one that was contained first. Harry's throbbing head refused to let him make a decision, so Ron made it for him. He threw a body-bind curse at Skeres first before tossing a rope tying jinx around Malfoy.

"ARRGH!" Skeres fell to the ground with a loud thump.

Curious mumbling in the hall called Harry's attention. He swiftly shut and silenced the front door with charms.

"Malfoy?" Ron asked, peering down at the tied up man on the ground. It was a valid question. He had changed quite a bit in just three years, and it wasn't just the blood matting his shoulder-length hair.

His face had become gaunt, sunken in from lack of nourishment. His once fair skin was now waxy white as if he hadn't let the sun touch it since Harry last saw him. It reminded Harry unsettlingly of his godfather after he had spent twelve years in Azkaban.

Malfoy hadn't gone to Azkaban, though. Harry knew that as a certainty. He had been the one to assure it. After Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had lied to Voldemort and saved him, he felt responsible for repaying the debt by speaking at their trial. His testimony had saved them and put quite a strain on several of his friendships. Nevertheless, he knew it was right, and he considered his debt paid.

"Why are you tying me up?" Malfoy snarled, struggling in his restraints. "This is my house! He's the one attacking me!"

They glanced at Skeres, who could only move his eyes. He glared at Malfoy as if he was attempting to perform a wordless, wandless Avada Kedavra.

"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed loudly. "This is a muggle apartment. There is no way in hell Draco Malfoy," he said his name like it was a horrible disease, "would ever live here."

Harry wanted to back his friend up, but he remembered what their boss had told them. "Actually, Robards said an Ex-Death Eater lived here." He cast another look at Skeres, who hadn't changed. "And I don't remember him being a Death Eater." Skeres' scathing look flicked up to Harry as if he had just insulted his whole existence.

"Why would Terry attack you?" Ron questioned.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" Malfoy spat. Ron took his suggestion and lifted his wand towards Skeres. "Not here, you bloody fool!" Malfoy roared. "He's trying to kill me. At least untie me so I can defend myself!"

Ron dropped his arm again, heaving a sigh as if this was a great inconvenience. Harry knew he was really just upset that Malfoy made a minimal amount of sense. He should have considered that.

Ron's stepped crunched across the broken glass before he knelt down to place a hand on Skeres. He looked up at Harry. "Want me to send someone over to help you with him?" He tilted his head towards Malfoy.

Harry shook his head, barely restraining rolling his eyes. "No, I think I can handle him."

Malfoy let out a noise of offense, but neither paid it any mind. "Tap on the two-way if you need me."

Harry gave a small grunt of assent. Ron took that as enough confirmation. He disapparated with Skeres, the usual loud snap echoing behind him.

Once they were alone, Harry brought his eyes back down to Malfoy. The moment of adrenaline had passed, and now he felt even more tired than before. He could barely keep his eyes open. "So, what did you do?"

Malfoy showed off one of his famous sneers though it didn't look as arrogant as it once had when they were children. "And why do you think I did anything?"

Harry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Please, Malfoy, it's you."

"I didn't do anything," Malfoy said in a low snarl, each word spat out like its own sentence. Harry didn't budge, only adding a raised brow to his impassive look. "Can you at least untie me so we can have a civilized conversation?"

"Not until you tell me what happened?" Harry said. He went on when he saw Malfoy's eyes flare. "How am I to know you won't just try to attack me or try to escape if I don't know what led up to all of this first?"

Malfoy's eyes fell to the metal legs of the table that once stood where he lay. "I couldn't attack you if I wanted to. You kept my family out of Azkaban."

Harry straightened. That had woken him up a bit. He assessed the young man on the ground. He looked utterly pitiful, and it wasn't just his sorry state or the restraints; it was his whole demeanor. It was like the world had kicked him when he was down, and he just never felt like getting back up again.

Harry flicked his wand.

Malfoy's arms relaxed the moment he felt the conjured ropes loosen. He started to pull them off as he sat up. A low hiss fell from his teeth. He carefully reached back to touch his back, which had several small shards embedded into his skin. Before Harry could move to help, Malfoy had pulled them out and started getting to feet, trying to avoid putting his hands on the ground as to not cut them up as well.

"Do you need a healer?" Harry asked.

Malfoy was hunched over in an uncomfortable position. He ignored Harry, eyes scanning the ground. When he spotted what he was looking for, he bent down awkwardly and picked up his wand from the debris. Harry tightened his hold on his own wand instinctively.

Malfoy didn't look at him, though. He straightened out the best he could and reached his wand back over his shoulder, a grimace crossing his face from the small contortion. He mumbled something incomprehensible. Slowly, he stood straighter, the pain fading from his features.

Harry watched with wrapped amazement. Self-healing was a tricky thing, especially when one couldn't see the actual injury. There were several healers in the Ministry's infirmary he was certain couldn't do that, although that was one of the reasons he rarely went to them - it was only after leaving Hogwarts did one realize just how great of a healer Madam Pomfrey really was.

Though his cuts and bruises quickly vanished from his body, Malfoy still didn't appear healthy. The source-less, drying blood on his face didn't help.

Harry cleared his throat, pulling Malfoy's attention back to him. "So, what happened if you didn't do anything?"

Malfoy's shoulders fell. His eyes flicked up and down Harry before he let out a sigh. "Fine, maybe I had done something."

In the blink of an eye, Harry had his wand pointed at Malfoy's face. Malfoy threw his hands up in defense. "I knew it," Harry hissed.

"Not directly!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I didn't do anything to him. I'm just the easiest person to blame."

Harry didn't lower his wand, but a frown creased his face. "Blamed for what?"

Malfoy swallowed hard. His eyes fell to the ground, his face somehow looking even more sunken in. "He said it was for his brother. I guess some of the younger students snuck back to join the fight at the Battle of Hogwarts." Harry had to re-grip his wand. The picture of Colin Creevey's small body lying in the rubble of the school still haunted his dreams some nights. "I don't even remember him."

Fury filled Harry's chest, and he barely managed to get the question out and wait for a response before he started letting curses loose. "You killed his little brother?"

Malfoy's eyes went wide with utter horror. "No!" he bellowed. "I didn't kill anyone!" His shoulders fell, and his eyes suddenly became distant as if he was no longer there but somewhere else far away that Harry couldn't see. "At least… not directly…"

"Then why-" 

"Because I'm the poster boy for Death Eaters," Malfoy snapped. "If it's not the Dark Lord himself, then they picture my family and me. People are furious that I got off."

"It's been three years."

"Yeah, well, I'm guessing it's hard to forget that your loved ones are dead!"

To busy himself and fill the sudden silence, Malfoy pointed his wand at the glass shards on the ground. They began to magically mend themselves, soon forming one large glass piece that fit perfectly back on top of the metal legs.

"You're acting as if you aren't upset that he attacked you," Harry noted. 

"I stopped blaming them a long time ago," Malfoy sighed. "I would do the same if someone killed my family, and one of the people who helped them is still walking around, scot-free." 

"Does stuff like this happen often?"

"It's not supposed to," Malfoy snapped, turning back to him. "It's why I moved into a damn muggle apartment in the first place. I don't know how he found out where I lived."

"He could have followed you home."

"Doubtful."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't have seen me out."

"Why not? You might not have seen him." Harry was genuinely curious why Malfoy was so confident that he hadn't been followed.

Harry, himself, hadn't seen Malfoy since the trials. The wizarding world was a small place, no matter how spread out it was in distance. It was hard for one to go completely unnoticed – Harry should know.

Was Malfoy walking around under an invisibility cloak? Was that why Harry never saw him? Or was he just that good at lurking? It wouldn't surprise Harry.

"I don't leave," Malfoy finally said.

Harry tilted his head. "You haven't today?"

"Not ever, really."

Harry eyed the boy's frail body. His next question came out before he could consider how it could have been perceived. "Not even for groceries?"

"Not in some time."

"I don't remember house arrest being a part of your verdict."

"It wasn't. I'm staying by choice." Harry started to question this, but Malfoy spoke over him. "Obviously, there's a problem here because the only people who know I live here are my parents and the Ministry, and we made sure that it wouldn't be on the public record."

"What about your friends?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Pansy wouldn't tell anyone."

"What about the others?"

Malfoy scowled at him. Harry straightened and muttered, very intelligently, "Oh." He supposed an Ex-Death Eater couldn't have much of a social circle. Anyone he considered a friend once was either dead, in prison, or likely desperately disassociating with anyone that could connect them back to Voldemort.

"Clearly, someone in your ministry is giving out private information," Malfoy accused. "If people are still going to track me down and attempt to kill me, then I might as well just have stayed at the manor. At least there's some room there."

"I'll look into it."

A bitter, breathy snort came from Malfoy as he crossed his arms. He clearly didn't believe that Harry would actually help him. If someone was really giving out his information, then could Harry really blame him? He would lose faith in authority, too, in that case. Hell, he had done precisely that when Fudge was in office.

There were several people in his Ministry that Harry would have gladly testified against. Dolorous Umbridge was one of them. Sadly there had been no proof that they had broken any law nor purposefully intended to cause harm. Hermione nearly had a hernia after hearing that one. Ron swore she slept with a law book beside her for two weeks, trying to come up with a way to catch that woman. None prevailed, but Umbridge did have enough sense to skip off out of the country after that.

"I promise, I'll look into it," Harry pressed.

Malfoy slid a glare in his direction, but it quickly eased as he accessed Harry. He pursed his lips and looked away again. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Harry sighed long and hard. He forgot how obstinate the Slytherin could be. He looked around the room; nothing looked out of place as far as he could tell. "Alright, whatever. Just don't go out too much for now, okay?"

Malfoy scoffed again. "Not a problem."

A chill ran over Harry. He eyed the malnourished man. "Right." He looked over at the kitchen, which was spotless other than the yellow tea tin sitting out. He wondered if there was anything at all inside that fridge. He wondered if Malfoy even knew what a refrigerator was - it had amused Ron for nearly two weeks until Hermione scolded him for leaving it open and spiking up their utility bill.

"I guess my work here is done. Someone may come by with follow up questions later."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Lovely, more people who know my address."

"Or I will," Harry sighed.

Malfoy ignored him, silently shooing him off towards the door. Malfoy unlocked it before they got there, and Harry stumbled out. He paused at the entrance, turning back to the blond. "Well, er, goodbye."

Malfoy scowled. "Are you always this awkward when leaving a crime scene, or are you used to the damsels in distress throwing themselves at your feet as you leave? Trust me, Potter, I'm no damsel."

Harry rolled his eyes, but a knowing look lit Malfoy's eyes when Harry scrubbed the back of his hot neck. So maybe something like that was known to happen once or twice. It wasn't always women, though. People just thanked him a lot - it came with being the 'Chosen One' he supposed. "It's not always damsels," he muttered out.

Malfoy screwed up a brow. "Oh?"

Suddenly, Harry felt like he was standing outside of Allure, talking to that flirty brunette again. His face felt just as warm as it had that night. "I mean, it's not like that. People, men or women, are just grateful in general of me- Of me being there- Of _help_ being there." Harry licked his chapped lips. "You know what, it doesn't matter. I'm going."

"Yeah, I think that's best."

Harry turned away again, but a fleeting thought popped into his head and ran out of his mouth before he could catch it. "And eat something, Malfoy."

It seemed, to Malfoy at least, that Harry hadn't thought about the words coming out of his mouth at all. The young Auror turned and walked back down the hall the way he came, a muffled snap sounding from the stairwell the moment he walked through the door.

A heavy sigh left Malfoy's mouth. Harry Potter was just as reckless and short-sighted as he had been in school. Of course, nothing would have changed for Potter. He was still the Boy Who Lived – now twice. People adored him when he walked down the streets.

It wasn't at all like that for Malfoy. No, they glared and spat at his feet. They showed up at his family home to shout obscenities at his family or sent curses in the mail. It had driven them all so mad that they abandoned their ancestral home.

Eventually, just the idea of leaving his safe, muggle hideout to go to the shop sent him spiraling into a panic. No one would expect to find Draco Malfoy there. Or at least, they didn't before. Four months, that was all the peace he could have, and they were back. They might as well just have put him in Azkaban. At least then, he didn't feel pathetic when he couldn't bring himself to break past the threshold.


	2. Expelliarmus

"It looks like the git might have been telling the truth," said Ron, returning from his interrogation with Skeres. "The last spell on Terry's wand was the killing curse."

This news settled strangely in Harry's stomach. While he believed what Malfoy had told him, the thought that he was actually telling Harry the truth felt uncharacteristic. Then again, was there ever a time that Malfoy had really lied to Harry? He couldn't think of an occasion. He usually preferred hurtful truths.

Harry's thoughts had a short run before he frowned at his friend. "What do you mean 'might have been?' It sounds like Skeres is guilty."

Ron shrugged. "We don't know that for sure ― Terry isn't talking. It might have been self-defense. I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to strike first. He did it enough to us back in school."

"Not the killing curse, though," Harry urged. "That seems a bit extreme, even for Malfoy."

Ron plopped down at his desk in front of Harry's. His eyes began to scan over the piles of paper that seemed to double in their absence. "Well, what was Malfoy's last spell?"

A cold chill ran down Harry's spine. His silence pulled Ron around in his chair. He looked at his best mate with a worried frown – he knew that look. "You did check, right?"

Harry had been so dumbfounded by how malnourished and disheveled Malfoy had been, he had completely forgotten about doing the standard procedures involved with a case like this. If he admitted the truth, not only would he be severely reprimanded – possibly fired if Robards heard about this ― but the whole case could be thrown out. "Yeah, of course. I'm not an idiot."

_Yes, you are_ , Harry's thoughts hissed at him.

"It was Expelliarmus."

Ron narrowed his eyes. Harry cringed. While Expelliarmus was a useful spell in a duel, it was also a well-known fact that it was the first spell that usually came to Harry's mind. He was so notorious for it among the Aurors that it was often the punchline to any ridicule directed at him. If he was going to lie on the spot, then that was the spell he would say.

Maybe Ron wasn't book smart like Hermione, but he knew how to connect the dots. Nevertheless, he dropped it and looked back at his desk. "Then I guess we'll just have to wait for the trial; they've already set a date. It must be slow in admin today."

"When is his trial?"

"March 12."

Harry frowned. "That's next month. That's a long time to keep him in detainment. Are we sending him to Azkaban?"

"Azkaban? No. He's going home."

"Home! He just tried to kill someone."

"Yeah, Malfoy. We've all tried doing that once or twice."

"It doesn't matter. He used an unforgivable curse."

"Look, I don't get why you're so upset. We're keeping him for a few days to cool off and watch him. If he turns out to be a threat, then we'll deal with him in court like we do everyone else. It's Terry, though. He told me why he went there, and I can't say I blame him. If Fred's killer was still on the loose-"

"Malfoy didn't kill his brother."

"He might as well have."

Harry shook his head profusely. This was why Malfoy wouldn't believe him. Of course, he'd given up on the system. No one gave him a reason to think otherwise. He hated that Malfoy was right. "Where's Robards?"

"In his office?" Ron's answer came out as a question of its own. "Harry, what are you-"

\---

"I'll make an inquiry, but I wouldn't expect much from it," Robards said to Harry, not looking up from his papers.

Harry had just spent the last five minutes protesting that Skeres should not be released. It soon devolved into Harry insisting that they do a thorough background check of the Public Records Department, during all of which Robards didn't look him in the eye even once. Harry was almost shaking with rage. While he respected Robards greatly, sometimes the man truly got under his skin.

"An inquiry isn't going to do anything," Harry argued. "Someone in the ministry is giving out private information, information that is causing harm. Doesn't that qualify for a little more concern?"

The man shook his head. A long sigh left his lips, and he took off the dark-rimmed glasses that had fallen to the edge of his nose, folding them on top of his papers before he looked up at Potter. "I'm not tearing apart a whole department just because one Death Eater got a little bruised up."

"He was exonerated!" Harry snapped without thought ― a running theme with him that day.

"I'm aware, Potter," Robards said. "I was one of the jury members who voted in his favor." His voice was low and even but lethal, and it sent a shiver down Harry's spine, making him realize his mistake.

Harry straightened, a silent apology in his eyes.

Robards sighed. "Look, there are about a dozen ways Skeres could have gotten his information. We haven't had any other complaints of this kind. I cannot devote time and resources to an issue that hasn't been proven to actually be an issue, especially when it could very well be chalked up to a coincidence.

"I need people on real problems like actual dark witches and wizards. I was hoping you could be one of those people for me unless you rather chase down nonsense and send people who have not yet gotten a fair trial to Azkaban. If that is the case, then maybe you should go home early. I don't need trouble in my department today."

This wasn't an empty threat. More than once, Robards had sent Harry home when his temper had gotten the better of him. Harry's shaking white fist behind his back was tempted to take the offer. Thankfully, some of Harry's sense – which usually came in the form of Hermione's voice ― told him to just go back to work.

"That won't be necessary," Harry assured, gritting his teeth.

"Good," Robards looked back down. "I need those reports from the Knox case on my desk by this evening, and I don't trust Weasley to stay concentrated for that long. You either, if I'm honest, but two heads are better than one."

Harry rolled his eyes, turning back towards the office door. "You should really have more faith in us. We are competent, despite what Hermione says."

Robards made a gruff noise, picking up his reading glasses. "Prove me wrong, and we'll see."

Harry was determined to do precisely that. He had never gotten through a report so fast, especially when the office was empty as it was that day.

Usually, he and Ron would revert to times in the Gryffindor common room, attempting to do their homework but eventually finding themselves making paper airplanes or writing nonsense in their reports and muttering them to one another before starting over again. However, this day, they got it done before two, and Harry sauntered into Robards' office to smugly slap the files down onto his desk.

Robards attempted to hold back a smile, but Harry could see the amusement glittering in his eyes. He muttered something about challenging him and Ron more before telling Harry they could go home early.

Ron invited Harry to go with him to visit Hermione, an offer Harry would usually take, but then he remembered the girl Ron had mentioned earlier. In a quick decision, he declined, claiming he had to do some errands.

Without the usual five o'clock rush, it didn't take long to get a Floo home. However, the instant he stepped out of the fireplace in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, he considered turning right back around and taking up Ron's offer. Having awkward small talk with a stranger sounded much more enjoyable than hanging around this place.

He would usually go to the pub a few blocks away, but it was barely two o'clock, and not even Harry would start drinking that early.

There was nothing inherently bad about Grimmauld Place. Others might actually be jealous of the fact that he practically fell into the ownership of a five-floor townhouse, not including the spacious basement and attic, in the middle of London with almost no added expense except for maintenance. Those people wouldn't have the same memories he had, though.

No one else would expect to see Sirius Black sitting at the end of the long dining room table reading the Daily Prophet as Remus Lupin handed him a cup of coffee. They wouldn't be on alert for Fred and George Weasley to take advantage of reaching the age of seventeen and running amuck with 'perfectly legal' magic or using their experimental Weasley's Wizard Wheeze products on unsuspecting bystanders. They wouldn't stop and think the low thud of the furnace on cold nights was Alastor Moody's wooden leg hobbling through the house, arriving with news. They wouldn't pause at one of the closed doors and think that Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and the rest of the senior members of the Order of the Phoenix were on the other side having a meeting he wasn't supposed to walk in on. No, this place would be a blessing to them, not the constant nightmare it was for Harry.

"Welcome home, Master," croaked Kreacher from the doorway.

The once dirty little house-elf Harry had reluctantly taken charge of after his godfather's death had become a closer friend than even Ron or Hermione over the last few years. He had attempted to free him, but Kreacher had hidden in his cupboard for nearly a week, refusing to take the sock Harry tried to hand him, begging that Harry chop off his head like his mother rather than disgrace him with clothes.

In the end, he took Hermione's advice and attempted to improve his lot. He gave the elf a room of its own, though he rarely spent much time there, and an allowance that Harry was pretty sure he just used for groceries. Nevertheless, he did seem a lot happier.

"Master is home early," Kreacher noted.

A long sigh left Harry's mouth as he grumbled, "Sadly."

"Has Master had lunch? Kreacher can make-"

"No, that's okay," Harry interrupted. Kreacher had brought up a fantastic point. Harry had been so distracted, trying to get all of his work done that he had completely skipped lunch. He could go out to eat, which should at least take an hour. There was a nice looking Chinese restaurant a few blocks over he'd meant to try out. "I'm going out. Don't wait up, Kreacher."

Kreacher looked a bit offended that Harry was going out once again but not at all surprised. Harry didn't linger on it. He jumped up the stairs to the second floor where his room was and stripped into some muggle clothes.

Out of habit, he pushed his hands through the pockets of his robes before tossing them in the hamper, making sure he hadn't accidentally brought home another cursed bracelet he'd forgotten to give to evidence. The only thing that came up was a scrap of paper. He nearly threw it away without a second thought but paused when the numbers caught his attention, it was Draco's address. He should probably keep it in case he had any follow up questions.

He picked up his muggle wallet, which had a few pounds and a driver's license Hermione had helped him get, and was about to toss the slip of paper into his nightstand in its place. However, he hesitated when he saw the miscellaneous mess that was the drawer of his bedside table. He would never find it in there. He tucked the paper into the wallet, making a mental note it was there if he ever needed it, and stuffed it in his jeans.

Finally, he was ready to head out the door.

"Bye, Kreacher," he called over his shoulder and faintly heard a response before closing the door.

He started down the street. It was a rare day of sunshine in London, and there were plenty of people out to enjoy it. Harry passed the dull sign of Allure. The club appeared open but certainly not at its peak yet, most likely getting ready for its busy Friday night.

Harry kept walking until he was a few streets over where he remembered seeing the restaurant a week ago when he had been avoiding one of Allure's event nights. There were a few restaurants around – Italian, Indian, a café – but none were what he was looking for. He looked at the street signs, hoping to see the right one would jog his memory. Park Row. That sounded familiar.

He started to walk towards the street, but he still didn't see the restaurant when he got there. Why did that name sound familiar then? He shoved his hands into his pockets, frowning at the streets. Just as he was about to turn around and give up his search, his hand rubbed against his wallet. He stopped in his tracks. Was that where he remembered it from? Malfoy couldn't have been living that close to him without him noticing.

He pulled his wallet out and pulled out the folded piece of paper. Sure enough, in Robards' rushed handwriting was Park Row. Harry spun around, looking at each building until his eyes came across the building number written on the paper.

The memory of Malfoy's pale, emaciated form popped into Harry's mind. He wondered when the last time he had eaten was. It looked like it could have been days. Malfoy appeared pretty confident that Skeres hadn't followed him to his house anytime recently. When was the last time Malfoy even got groceries?

Why did he care? It was Malfoy, after all. Who cares if he starved himself? Harry had cleared his debt with the Malfoy family by keeping them from Azkaban; what they did with that freedom was up to them. If Malfoy wanted to become a recluse, he was welcome to it.

The image of Skeres standing over a bloodied and battered Malfoy pounded in his mind. His stomach twisted. The thought echoed Harry's memory standing in a similar position of Skeres as Malfoy bled from a dozen cuts on a Hogwarts' bathroom floor.

Harry had started back the way he had come, suddenly not feeling very hungry at all. Maybe he'd just drink at Grimmauld tonight. With enough Firewhiskey, Harry could forget where he was.

His feet suddenly stopped before his mind could process why. He stared at the open sign of the Chinese restaurant he'd been looking for. It was just around the corner from Malfoy. Harry could have walked past Malfoy's apartment a dozen times and never realized it ― never knew his childhood nemesis was starving himself just a few meters away.

\---

"That will be fifty-six pounds," the woman behind the counter told Harry.

He riffled through his wallet and pulled out the amount in cash before taking the large bag of takeaway he had ordered. He hadn't been sure what Malfoy would like. He wasn't even sure if Malfoy liked Chinese food. Did he even know what it was? Wizarding restaurants mostly consisted of pubs and cafés. He never really thought about international cuisine before.

With the food in hand, he went back towards Malfoy's apartment. He wasn't really sure what he was going to say. Maybe he could come up with a lie about having more questions. He could check Malfoy's wand, although Malfoy had likely used it in the last few hours, and only the previous spell could be recalled.

When he got to the building, he came across some luck, spotting one of Malfoy's neighbors leaving just as he got there. They gave a fleeting glance to Harry's large takeaway bag and didn't ask any questions, likely assuming Harry was a food deliverer. He took the elevator up to the third floor.

Only once he was standing outside Malfoy's door did Harry's Gryffindor courage begin to falter. Why was he doing this again? What was Malfoy going to think? Then again, since when did Harry give a damn what Draco Malfoy thought? He could be kind if he wanted to be.

He gave two hard knocks to the door. There was utter silence.

For a moment, Harry thought that Malfoy had actually left. Then he heard the slow creak of careful feet approaching the door. No one spoke from the other side.

Harry looked at the peephole. "It's Harry," he said uselessly. If Malfoy was looking through the hole, then he'd clearly gotten that much. Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I brought some food for you. I figured since you can't leave for a while, you might need something."

There was no response.

Harry was beginning to get annoyed now. He must look like such a fool talking to a door holding a giant bag of food. "I talked to my boss about what you said. He's looking into it." Harry didn't think it was necessary to include how concerned, or rather unconcerned, Robards actually was about the matter.

There was a shifting sound. Harry thought he saw the handle of the door giggle, but it never opened.

"Fine," Harry snapped. He dropped the food on the ground. "I'll leave it here and go then. Be a pompous prick as always, Malfoy."

Harry stomped away. He only went a few doors down before looking back again. He hoped once he was out of view, Malfoy would come out. For a moment, it looked like it would work. The handle clearly moved, but there was a pause and bounced back to its original position.

Harry threw his hands up in the air, groaning loudly. At least one thing hadn't changed. Malfoy was just as difficult as he'd always been.

Giving up on attempting to catch him, Harry stomped back to the elevator and left the building. The hairs on his neck stood up, and he instantly spun around. There was no one on the sidewalk with him besides a young woman trying to hail a cab.

His eyes moved up to the building he'd just walked out of, spotting the drapes of one of the windows shut abruptly. Harry rolled his eyes and kept walking. _Creepy git._ He would rather stare at Harry than have a proper conversation.

That was the last time Harry was going to try to help him.


	3. Chopsticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is the easiest story I've ever written. They just mesh so well together. I feel like I barely have to try.

Though Harry had promised himself he would never show up at Malfoy's again, he found himself at his doorstep the following three days.

It was becoming a matter of pride now. He couldn't believe the git wouldn't cave. He got one answer the whole time, which was "Bugger off." That was when Harry found himself outside the building with no handy neighbors to let him in. Of course, he was a wizard, so a locked door didn't keep him out for long.

Each day, he brought a bag of takeaway from a new restaurant. He would stand outside Malfoy's door, knock a few times, and then try various methods to coax him out. The first day he was kind. The second he wondered if their old childhood taunting would work – he got a dirty look from one of Malfoy's neighbors for that. By the third, he was insulting himself, hoping Malfoy would come out just to agree. Nothing worked. However, when he returned the following day, the food would be picked up, so he was sure he was listening.

By Tuesday, he had decided to give up once again. He was packing up after a long day of work, thinking that he might be able to pass out without aid for once, when Ron came up to him. His partner looked just as tired as he was as he lazily stacked papers to make his desk look relatively neat. "They're letting Terry out," he said conversationally.

Harry snapped his head up. "Terry Skeres, already?"

Ron shrugged. "We can't keep him forever. This isn't Azkaban."

"It hasn't even been a week!"

Ron grabbed his cloak, throwing it over his shoulders before turning back to Harry. "He's calmed down, and we've put a tracker on his wand. We'll know every spell he casts up until the trial."

"It only takes one spell to end a life."

Ron shook his head. "Are you actually worried about Malfoy? Malfoy of all people?" Ron urged. "As aggravating as it is to admit, he isn't incompetent. He knows how to protect himself."

"Is it not our job to protect people?"

"No, it's to put bad wizards away," Ron said crossly. He looked absolutely done with this conversation. He was too tired to argue right now. "Terry isn't a bad wizard. He's mourning. If we put away every witch or wizard who acted out after the war, then half of the wizarding population would be in Azkaban – hell, you and I would have been there day one. You know that. Terry isn't a threat. He just needs some help."

"Are we offering it?"

Ron looked utterly offended. "Yes, Harry, believe it or not, I do know how to do my job." Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but Ron went on. "I might not catch as many big fish as you do, but I do know what I'm doing – without forgetting procedure. He's doing mandatory counseling like everyone else we've found in similar situations. Is that sufficient for you?"

Harry's own petulance was rising in his chest. He snapped without thinking, "I don't know, did you file it correctly, or do we need Hermione to check your work?"

Harry saw the fury flare in his friend's eyes before he could consider what he said. Ron opened his mouth, and Harry braced himself to be chewed out. What happened instead felt even worse.

Ron shut his mouth again, lips pressing into a hard line. He was angry still, but Harry could also see the worry set deeply behind his irises like Ron was trying his damnedest not to light a match next to the bomb fuse no matter how much he needed a fire to stay warm. "Have a good night, Harry," he said in a dry tone. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Everything in Harry wanted to push him forward and prod at Ron more. Deep down, he wanted an argument. He wanted a fight. Even after wrestling two wizards that day, he still couldn't stop. It wasn't like anyone had ever let him stop when he was younger.

The small sliver of restraint Harry still had left kept him at his desk until he could unclench his fists. Once he was sure Ron had at least gone down to Magical Creatures in search of Hermione, he started towards the Atrium.

When Harry got to Grimmauld, he was greeted by Kreacher as always. Kreacher almost looked delighted when Harry said he'd be staying in today. The elf hurried off to start dinner as Harry pulled himself up to his bedroom.

He was pulling off his robes to get ready for a shower when his eyes came across the wallet on his nightstand.

Skeres had just been let out. If Harry were in his shoes at that moment, being released after being forced to stew in one's anger for three days, he knew exactly what he'd do next.

Harry pulled on a t-shirt and barely had his jeans buttoned up before he started back down the stairs. "I changed my mind, Kreacher!" he called over his shoulder before rushing out the door.

Harry had speed-walked to Park Row. Skeres couldn't have had too much time on him. When he got to the street, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary but still considered apparating into Malfoy's apartment to make sure he hadn't been too late. Just before he could make a rash decision, he spotted the familiar slim form pass the window on the third floor.

Deciding that Malfoy didn't appear distressed, Harry settled to wait downstairs instead of camping out in his hall. He hoped it would mean he'd get fewer dirty looks from Malfoy's neighbors. He grabbed a muggle newspaper from a dispenser nearby and took a seat at a bench in an attempt to blend in.

Minutes turned to hours. The street lamps began to flicker on when Harry's stomach reminded him that he'd skipped lunch again.

He glanced up at the apartment. The light inside against the growing night provided the perfect spotlight into Malfoy's living room. It looked like Malfoy was reading on his couch.

He would be fine for thirty minutes, right? He decided to just go to the Chinese place around the corner to be even quicker. When he got the food, he apparated the second he hit an empty alley.

To his great relief, there were no signs of distress when he got to Malfoy's door. He knocked like usual and called, "Food's here," before grabbing one of the many boxes off the top for himself and going back to the stairwell. He slumped back onto the bench across the street and began to eat.

He thoughtlessly looked up at Malfoy's apartment. He couldn't see the young man but didn't panic, assuming he was in the bathroom or something of the sort. Eventually, Malfoy came into sight again, carrying one of the boxes as he shoveled food into his mouth. Harry didn't notice the smile forming on his own lips.

He was glad that Malfoy was actually eating it and not just throwing it away. He wondered what he looked like up close now. He imagined it was closer to the old Malfoy he knew, just as pointy-faced and smug as he always had been.

Skeres never showed up as far as Harry knew. He waited up until about one in the morning, finding himself dozing off on the bench and knowing he wouldn't be much of a lookout if he was asleep. With tired reluctance, he went back to Grimmauld to sleep but made sure to do a double-check of the street before he did.

The next morning, he came by early to do a general sweep once more before going to work. Ron barely spoke to him. Harry had all but forgotten about their argument. He barely even paid attention to it throughout the day, more occupied with watching the clock so he could take a break and check Malfoy's again.

After work, he only went home to change then picked up Indian on his way to the apartment. Like the night before, he knocked and told Malfoy the food was there before taking a share and retiring to his bench.

This proceeded for the rest of the week. It wasn't until Friday that anything changed.

As Harry was hurrying to get his things together to leave work at the end of the day, Ron approached him. "Hey, Harry, I wanted to apologize for Tuesday. We both had a long day and just wanted to go home. Neither of us was in the right headspace."

Harry only had enough sense not to ask Ron if they could talk about this later. He paused and looked to his friend, seeing how desperately he was trying. "You don't need to apologize. You're right. I was out of line."

"Are we okay then?"

Harry chuckled, the thought of them ever not being okay seeming ridiculous. "Always."

"Good, hey, why don't you have dinner with Hermione and me," Ron suggested. "I know how much you hate being around Grimmauld."

Harry shook his head, his smile faltering. "No, I'm fine. I, er, promised Kreacher I'd do the cooking tonight."

Ron let out a boisterous laugh. "Is he your wife now?"

Harry shrugged. "Hermione's always telling me to be nicer to him. I'm better at that than cleaning up that place."

Ron nodded, his eyes falling away as he fell into a distant thought. "Yeah, anything to appease Hermione, I 'spose." He focused back on Harry. "We'll do something else soon, though, right?"

Harry nodded, mostly just to get the conversation to end quicker. "Yeah, of course." He slung his bag over his shoulder and already began to walk away as he spoke. "See you next week."

Ron replied, but Harry didn't listen. He rushed down to the Floos and back home. Kreacher didn't even bother greeting him anymore. Harry went up to his room too quickly and then right back out the door.

Almost forgetting to get food in his rush to make up for the lost time, he grabbed Chinese again and headed over.

He got to Malfoy's door, finding it closed as he was becoming accustomed to, and knocked twice. "Food's here." He dropped it on the ground and turned away.

When he heard a door clicking, he automatically assumed it was one of his neighbors. It wasn't until he heard the plastic bag rustling that he spun around.

Malfoy was standing in his doorway. He didn't look much different from the last time Harry had seen him, though there was an evident absence of blood in his hair. Maybe he was a little fuller looking but not the Malfoy that Harry hoped to see when he finally walked out.

There was a deep frown on Malfoy's face, aging him considerably. "Why do you keep coming here? What do you want?"

Harry straightened. He wasn't sure what he imagined Malfoy's response to all of this would be but accusing Harry of having an ulterior motive was not a part of it. "I don't want anything," Harry said slowly, the statement sounding more like a question. "I was just-" He looked down at the food that was still on the ground. "I know you can't leave until Skeres is dealt with so-"

"What do you mean by dealt with? Wasn't he already detained?" Malfoy urged. Harry didn't know what to say. He tried, but nothing came out. The frown on Malfoy's face slowly eased, but it was replaced by unsettling apathy, his eyes becoming so dull that they almost looked dead. "They let him go, didn't they?"

Harry still couldn't find an answer, so instead, he stupidly opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course, they did." He eyed Harry. "And you just don't want me to find out, or you're feeling guilty that I was right. Either way, it doesn't matter. He's been out for a week already. He's obviously either given up or is telling other people where to find me. I don't care, though. I'm used to it. You don't have to keep stalking me and bringing food around."

Malfoy started to turn back into his apartment.

In a desperate attempt to keep the conversation going, Harry said the first thing that came to mind. "He was only let out Tuesday."

Malfoy stopped in the doorway, his back still to Harry. If Harry's words were true, why had he been bringing food around since the attack? There was no way Skeres could have gotten him then. He looked back at Harry. This same realization must have come to him as well because he was suddenly avoiding Malfoy's eyes.

The rustling of the bag brought Harry's attention back. Malfoy had picked up the takeaway and was glaring mildly at Harry even as he said, "Well do you want to eat inside then? It's the least you could do really, you always bring so much. How much do you think I can eat?"

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't sure what you would like."

Malfoy shook his head with disdain, holding the door open for Harry to enter. "Still such a people pleaser, Potter."

"Still a git, Malfoy." Harry walked past Malfoy and lingered at the end of the hall as he waited for Malfoy with the food.

Malfoy pointed back at the still-open door. "You can go eat out in the rain then."

Harry took another step further into the house. "No, no, I'm fine here."

"Mhm," Malfoy grumbled through pursed lips as he shut the door. Malfoy moved past Harry towards the living area, leading Harry inside.

It was a nice apartment. Harry hadn't really looked at it before. The kitchen, which took up the most room with counter space and a breakfast bar, looked into the living room and small dinette. The three rooms made up most of the apartment, aside from the bedroom. It was just enough space for one person to maintain, and Malfoy indeed maintained it.

Everything was immaculate. The only thing out of place was a book on the coffee table, which almost looked purposefully askew. There were no colors. It was all white or light wood accents. The only semblance of personality was the floral painting hanging on the wall over the television, and Harry had a feeling Malfoy hadn't picked it out.

It was a strange juxtaposition in Harry's mind to see Malfoy in such a contemporary and very muggle setting. He was used to seeing Malfoy with castle walls or ancient, ornate furniture as the background while he stood in his sleek, traditional robes. Right now, Malfoy wore comfortable slacks and a dark green sweater. Harry was curious where he'd gone to get his hands on that - not even in his wildest dreams could he picture Malfoy in a department store rifling through hangers.

However, Harry couldn't help but feel like it fit him in some way. This is what he would have been like if he had been a muggle. All posh and following the sleek trends going into the new millennia, with his old money and Oxford or Cambridge education backing him - instead of Quidditch, he probably would have done something pretentious like polo or rowing.

"What are you smiling about?" Malfoy snapped Harry out of his thoughts.

Not even realizing he had been smiling, Harry quickly wiped his face and straightened. "Oh, er-" He dragged his fingertips over the ivory upholstery of the sofa. "Where did you get all of this? I don't picture you going to IKEA."

Malfoy frowned at him. "What is-?" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Most of it came with the apartment. The last tenet didn't want it."

"None of it?" Harry asked, frowning at the expensive-looking furniture.

Malfoy shrugged. "None of the big stuff, something about it being too hard to move out," he clarified. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was a very nice apartment building, sitting on the modern side of London architecture. Harry couldn't imagine anyone living here had money problems. "Mother helped me fill in the gaps," said Malfoy, tapping the ornate, glass side table that somehow managed to fit in.

"How is your mother?" It was as good of a topic as any. Talking about interior design wouldn't last forever, and Harry didn't want to get back onto the subject of Skeres.

Malfoy placed the takeaway on the small dining table and began to pull boxes out of the bag. "She's okay. She's spending some time with a few old friends in France right now." He glanced back at the table beside the front door where a neat stack of post sat. He narrowed his eyes as if doing so gave him the ability to see past the envelope to the letter inside. "She's been staying in Versailles, but I think they're visiting Avignon right now."

"Her and your father?" Harry asked, popping open a box to check what was inside.

The sudden silence pulled his eyes back up to the other man. Malfoy's face was pinched. He kept his hard gaze on the boxes of food, his fingers running over them like he was trying to open them but not putting in quite enough effort to actually do it. "No, they… He's still at the manor, I think. I don't have as much contact with him, so I'm not sure."

Harry felt his stomach plummet. Apparently, he hadn't picked the best conversation starter.

Somehow, Harry couldn't imagine a set of parents not getting along. He was fortunate in that area, at least. Even Vernon and Petunia had always functioned as a cohesive unit.

"Let's eat," Harry urged, eager to have a reason to stuff his mouth.

Malfoy agreed, picking out a random box and sitting down. Without a second thought, Harry broke apart a set of chopsticks. He was about to start digging in when he noticed Malfoy frowning at his hand. "What?"

"You've brought this type of food around three times now, and it always comes with those little sticks," Malfoy noted. "They can't be wands; Muggles don't have wands, right? Besides, they're far too thin. How would you even fit a core into one of these?" He held up a conjoined set of chopsticks, glaring at them as if they had personally offended him.

Laughter fell out of Harry's mouth before he could stop it. Malfoy sat up quickly. He glared daggers at Harry, now offended by him. Nevertheless, Harry spotted his reddening cheeks and could tell he was embarrassed about being ignorant about something.

"They're chopsticks," Harry explained, trying hard to swallow his laughter. "Some muggles use them to eat with." At least that answered the question of international cuisine in the wizarding world.

Malfoy's mouth fell open, looking positively aghast. "You mean muggles eat by stabbing stuff with sticks? They don't even have forks or other tableware? How do they eat soup? What kind of uncivilized-"

"Malfoy, Malfoy," Harry tried to cut off his rant while simultaneously attempting not to become completely undone with laughter. "They have tableware; this is just a cultural thing. In the U.K., we just use them for certain foods," he gestured to the box of noodles in front of him, "like this."

Malfoy was still frowning, but his shoulders had softened some. He glanced down at his own box of rice and meat. "This too?"

Harry nodded, not able to wipe the smile off his mouth. "Yes."

"How?" Malfoy began to stab the rice with the connected set of chopsticks, his furrowed brow, and jutting bottom lip, making him look like a picky child pocking at their vegetables.

"Well, firstly…" Harry reached over and took Malfoy's set, snapping them apart and handing them back before Malfoy could complain.

Once they were in his hands, Harry picked up his own set and demonstrated the correct form. Malfoy tried to copy but fumbled. Harry leaned over again and took Malfoy's hand. "The first one rests in your thumb like this, and you keep it steady with your ring finger." He manipulated his fingers until the stick was sitting right. "Then, you add the other." He put the second stick in and pinched Malfoy's index and thumb together around it. "Hold this one like a pen. Now only move these two fingers to open and close them. Leave your thumb still."

When it looked like he had the hang of the movements, Harry let go and sat back. Malfoy's brow was furrowed with intense concentration as he slowly moved his hands towards the food. He opened the chopsticks and managed to pinch them around a piece of chicken.

"Yeah, that's it," Harry praised.

Malfoy started to lift it, and it got about five centimeters off the bed of rice before slipping back down. Malfoy groaned.

"It's okay," Harry assured. "No one gets it the first time. You can use a fork."

Malfoy shook his head profusely. "No, I'll get it. Show me how you do it," he demanded.

Harry was a little taken aback by the determination in Malfoy's eyes. He'd seen it before, of course. Times when he was trying to one-up Harry in school, but it never ended well for him. Still, he never gave up.

Harry complied and began to bring noodles to his mouth with his chopsticks. Malfoy watched him intently, making Harry move a little awkwardly. Malfoy still looked amazed when he got it to his mouth. "Where did you learn to do this?" he asked as he began to desperately pinch at his own food again.

"I've been living mostly on my own for three years, and I don't think Kreacher knows what spice is," Harry admitted.

"Kreacher?" Malfoy repeated. "Wasn't that the Black house-elf?"

Harry nodded. He brought his eyes back down to his food, beginning to push it around the container. "Yeah, my godfather left him for me, with his house."

"Oh, right," Malfoy muttered awkwardly. "I'm sorry about that."

Harry shook his head. "You didn't have anything to do with it." He began to stuff his mouth with more noodles, trying to keep his mind occupied by something else – anything else. He could feel Malfoy watching him but refused to look up.

They sat in silence for only a few seconds before Malfoy began to attempt the chopsticks again. After a few tries, he managed to clumsily get the food to his mouth. It was enough to get him excited. Harry clapped and cheered him on, seeing how utterly delighted with himself Malfoy actually was.

"I haven't learned anything new in a while," Malfoy admitted after succeeding in getting a piece of vegetable in his mouth. "I've kind of missed it."

Harry snorted. "You sound like Hermione." Malfoy made a face, but there was little malice behind his eyes. "Honestly, I wish I could have a break from it for once. I feel like every day, I'm being told something new that I have to remember for the next case. It's exhausting, really."

"Please." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "As if you could actually make me believe that Saint Potter doesn't love all the attention being an Auror gets him. I'm sure you're kissing babies daily."

A faint smile played on Harry's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. He shook his head slowly side-to-side. "No, none of that, I'm afraid. I try not to go around too many wizarding hangouts for that reason. It's hard to always be pleasant when all you want is a beer so you can get a good kip."

"Wait, let me get this right." Malfoy waved his hand as if shaking away any previous thought. "Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, doesn't like being part of the wizarding world?" He was grinning from ear to ear, but there was curiosity circling his eyes, a light crease in his brow.

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I never asked to be the savior of anything, and everyone acts like I did it all by myself." He scrubbed at the back of his neck. "I was chasing Horcruxes half of the time, and I only survived that because Ron and Hermione were with me. There were a lot of people who gave a lot more than I did who deserve the praise.

"Besides," he leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table, "I don't want to ruin anyone's image of their hero. I don' think anyone who has actually met me thinks I'm anything great."

Malfoy's eyes ran across the other man's face, seeing all the lines and scars a person his age shouldn't have – he wouldn't be surprised if Harry started sprouting grey hairs within the year.

"Well," Malfoy said, earning Harry's gaze, "I, for one, don't think you're anything great, certainly not a hero." A smile broke out across Harry's face before Malfoy could finish, and he found it climbing onto his own face. "You're always welcome here if you need someone to remind you that."

Harry raised a brow. "I'm welcome here?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Only if you keep bringing food around. I was running low." He pointed his chopsticks at him threateningly. "But not as much from now on. I've had to throw it away, and I hate going down to the trash disposal thing."

Harry was once again tried not to laugh. "You mean trash shoot?" Malfoy just rolled his eyes. "And," Harry turned back in his chair to look into the kitchen, "what about your fridge? It's only been a week. None of it should have gone bad by now."

There was another deep crease on Malfoy's brow when he turned back around. "You mean that box that makes buzzing sounds every once in a while."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's a fridge. It makes your food last longer."

"Like a preservation spell?"

"Yeah, sort of, but there's no magic. It's just cold."

"Oh, it's an icebox." Malfoy shook his head. "But, I've never seen an icebox like that."

Harry sighed, getting up from his chair. He went into the kitchen while Malfoy stayed seated, craning his neck over the bar top to watch. Harry opened the door, and Malfoy jumped at the sound of the crisp seal breaking.

The light turned on, illuminating a mostly empty fridge except for a few bottles of beer. Harry pulled out the bottles and searched for a best-by date – they were only two months out. With a shrug, he put the bottles on the counter for later and gestured to the inside of the fridge. "Regular food goes in here." He popped open the freezer, which hissed and crackled. There were some peas and TV dinner trays there. "Anything you want frozen goes up here. It makes it last even longer." He closed both doors, then pointed at the stove then the microwave above it. "Put it in here or here to warm it back up."

Malfoy crossed his arms and glared at Harry. "I know what a stove is." He narrowed his eyes at the appliance behind the other man. "I just… don't know how to work it. Where does the fire go?"

Harry looked down at the stovetop. He brushed a hand over the flush top. "This looks like an electric stove, so…" He spun the dial, and the heating unit became red, signaling it was on.

Malfoy jumped to his feet and rushed over to examine the stove. "This has to be magic," he muttered, hovering his hand over the warming stovetop.

Harry shook his head. "No, just electricity." Malfoy began to play with the dials, turning them back and forth to see if it would change anything. Harry watched the other man's bewilderment, remembering the time he had to take Arthur Weasley through the tube.

He began to look around the rest of the apartment. A television was tucked into a small entertainment center beside the fireplace, a thermostat on the wall, switches, and plugs everywhere. He wondered what Malfoy had been doing with all of this by himself. He couldn't have been there long to not have at least figured out the stove.

"How long have you been here?" Harry asked as Malfoy ticked the stove off.

"Hm? Oh, six months, give or take," Malfoy answered. "Why?"

"I thought you said you don't leave the apartment much. How do you eat if you don't even know how to cook?" Harry's eyes feel to Malfoy's body, and it answered his question for him.

Malfoy stepped away from the counter and wrapped his arms around himself in a self-conscious act. "I don't know. I just buy stuff that has a long shelf-life. I use a lot of preservation charms too." He eyed the takeaway boxes. "That stuff doesn't preserve as well, though. Too many ingredients, I guess. It's not that bad, though, and Pansy or Mother come around about once a month and bring some stuff."

"Once a month?" Harry asked. His brow knitted into a tight knot as he frowned at the other man. "Malfoy, how long has it been since you left this place?"

Malfoy fidgeted. He began to pluck at his sweater, loosening another thread. He blinked at the bar as if it held a calendar. "Two…" he paused, considering what he said. "Two months?" He didn't sound sure at all. Suddenly, Harry wasn't so sure that he'd actually been there six months, to begin with. It seemed like it could have been a year, and Malfoy wouldn't have even noticed.

No wonder he looked so pale and thin. There was a balcony on the other side of the wall-length windows, but the dirty lounge chairs and overgrown plant pot made it clear that Malfoy didn't spend any time out there either. For two months, at the very least, Malfoy had kept himself locked up in this one-bedroom apartment without even the knowledge of how to work the stove.

What did he do in all that time? The thought of staying two consecutive days in Grimmauld drove Harry mad. Harry might not be a big people person, but at least he liked to feel the sun on his face or stop at the pub to listen to whatever sport was in season at the time.

Completely forgetting the dinner on the table, Harry grabbed Draco's wrist and dragged him out of the kitchen.

"Wha- Where are we going?" Malfoy demanded. He was trying to resist, but he was too weak.

"To a restaurant or a pub, or anywhere really," Harry declared, working open the front door.

"What!" Malfoy suddenly rooted his feet into the ground, putting all his weight back to at least marginally hinder the much stronger man. "No," he whimpered. "I- I can't. Please. I can't!"

Harry kept trying to pull him forward, not understanding what was happening yet. It wasn't until he felt the low throb in his stomach, followed nearly instantly by a sharp pain across his head and back, that he realized he was making a mistake. Harry tumbled to the ground.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," Malfoy whimpered.

Harry slowly lifted his head. Malfoy was in a ball on the ground as well, his back pushed up against the wall as he rocked back and forth. He had thrown his wand on the ground, holding his head between his knees as he looked upon Harry with wide, fearful eyes. "I didn't mean to," he said through sharp, quick breaths. "I'm sorry. I can't. I can't." He shook his head violently, continuing to rock.

The realization of what Harry was looking at finally hit him. He had seen it before. It was a side effect of his job: seeing people in life-altering situations and watching their resulting panic. He'd also felt it himself.

He didn't like thinking about it too much. However, when things got too quiet and his thoughts got too loud, Harry found himself unable to breathe, his whole body vibrating with every emotion he attempted to suppress. More than once, he heard Kreacher's voice croaking to him, asking if he wanted tea or if he should get help – by now, the old house-elf knew to just cover Harry in a blanket until it passed.

Harry knew what he actually wanted, though. "Malfoy, it's okay," he hummed but kept his distance. "You're okay. I won't make you leave. It's okay."

Malfoy pressed his head harder against his knees. "No, no. I hurt you. I keep hurting people. I'm sorry." He clutched his hands so tightly to his head that it appeared like he was trying to crush his own skull.

"I'm fine, Malfoy," Harry assured, starting to understand his thought process. "I'm not hurt. You didn't hurt me. We aren't going anywhere. I promise. Please, Malfoy, just take some deep breathes. It'll help, I promise."

Malfoy started to shake his head rapidly, his breathing coming out even faster. He let out a whimpering noise and twisted his fingers deeper into his scalp.

Harry moved a little closer but didn't touch him. "Malfoy," he spoke as calmly as possible. "Listen to me. It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. I won't make you go anywhere, I swear. You're safe. Just try to breathe, and it'll pass. It's going to pass."

Malfoy attempted a long shaky breath and held onto it for a second before it burst out of his lungs again. Harry nodded quickly. "That's good, that's good. Keep going."

Harry began to mimic regular, deep breaths. Gradually, Malfoy's breath became more and more even until they were both breathing normally.

Soon, the only sound in the room was their breath and Malfoy's periodic sniffles. Harry slowly eased himself to the other side of the narrow hall, pressing his own back against the wall. He watched as Malfoy slowly unraveled himself, lifting his head before hurriedly whipping at his damp face in hopes that Harry didn't catch his appearance. Harry didn't care. No one was pretty after a panic attack.

"I-I'm sorry," Malfoy said through a hiccup.

Harry shook his head, his tense jaw twitching. "It's okay. I should have listened to you. You said you didn't want to leave." Malfoy involuntarily hiccupped again. "I'm sorry," Harry realized he had yet to really apologize. "I should have thought about it. I would have been with you, though. I wouldn't let Skeres hurt you again."

Malfoys shook his head profusely. "It's not just Skeres. It's everyone. I-" He hesitated, glancing at Harry once before turning his eyes to the expanse of his apartment. "They all hate me, and they have reason to." He began to pick at his sweater again. "I'm the reason so many people are dead."

"You didn't kill anyone, Malfoy," Harry insisted. That had been the main point of his argument during the trial. Malfoy had never actually killed anyone. He didn't have blood on his hands.

Malfoy rubbed at his face again, trying to keep his red nose from running. He sniffed again and shook his head. "Try telling that to all the people whose family members are dead." He let out a shaky breath and looked down at his sock covered feet. "I deserve this. I deserve to be hated."

Something roared in Harry's chest. He didn't know why but he wanted to stand up and smack Malfoy across the face for even muttering such words – which was, perhaps, counterintuitive. Maybe that was just his gut instinct when it came to his old nemesis. He hated seeing him so weak and self-loathing. This wasn't the Draco Malfoy he knew at all. He couldn't allow this to stand.

Harry clambered up to his feet. Malfoy watched him rise out of the corner of his eye. Harry offered his hand. "Come on. We still have plenty of food here, right? Or are you too scared to use chopsticks again, Malfoy?"

Malfoy stared at him curiously for a long second as if he didn't understand what Harry was saying. Finally, a smirk crawled onto his lips. He took Harry's hand, allowing him to help him to his feet. "You wish."


	4. Chardonnay

A new habit formed. In the span of another week, Harry continued to bring dinner to Malfoy's. Malfoy always opened the door for him to come in, eventually telling Harry to not even bother knocking.

There was a growing mass of takeaway menus on Malfoy's counter though it seemed they were following Harry's old procedure of slowly ordering everything off each menu. So far, Chinese and Japanese were Malfoy's favorite, but Harry was pretty sure it was just because he liked practicing with the chopsticks. He was getting annoyingly good at it, occasionally stealing Harry's food just to smile smugly at him.

Harry also got Malfoy to begin working on leaving the house. It wasn't impossible for him, but he couldn't go far for very long. They certainly had to stay within muggle London.

Once, without thinking, Harry had suggested going to Diagon Alley, and Malfoy's panic attack lasted almost thirty minutes. They usually just walked the length of Park Row, going around the block if Malfoy was feeling bold, then back up to the apartment. It was at least enough to get some fresh air.

Friday after work, Harry was hurrying to get his desk relatively cleaned up so he could hurry home and change. He didn't move fast enough, Ron catching him as he stuffed a few files in his bag. "Hey, mate."

"Hey," Harry mumbled reflexively, not bothering to look up. They'd been working together all day; it wasn't as if they hadn't spoken to one another in a while.

"Are you up for that dinner we were going to have last week?"

Harry finally looked up. He stared at him for a long moment, going through all of their conversations in the past week until he finally found what Ron was talking about. "Oh, right, well..." He felt weird turning him down again, he never usually missed an excuse to be away from Grimmauld, but he wasn't planning on being there long.

He had been planning something for dinner at Malfoy's. Not to mention that he couldn't just not show up without warning him. It was rude, of course, but also, he couldn't get the image out of his mind from the time they'd been walking, and Harry had lost him in a crowd for almost five minutes. Harry ended up finding Malfoy hiding in an alley, trying to hide his face from the people passing by. He looked absolutely petrified. It was the expression that always popped in Harry's head whenever he thought about leaving Malfoy alone; he just couldn't bear the chance of that look resurfacing. He had to stay with him.

"Don't tell me you're cooking for Kreacher again," Ron said, wrinkling his nose.

Harry frowned at him. "Sorry?" He was confused for a split second before he remembered his previous lie. "Oh, er, no, not that. I do need to run some errands, though. You know, get some groceries. I was hoping to get them before this weekend, so I won't have to worry about it."

"Oh, okay then," Ron said, not looking particularly won over by this excuse. "Another time then?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, definitely. Maybe, er, just give me a few days' notice, yeah? I should get going before the Floo queue gets too long. Tell 'Mione I said hi."

Harry hurried out of the Aurors office and down the elevator to the Atrium. He hadn't been lying to Ron, not entirely. He had wanted to get groceries but not for his house.

Once in a fresh new set of muggle clothes, Harry went down to the shop and picked up all the ingredients he would need. Seeing that he was nearly an hour late already, and the downpour outside, Harry decided to just apparate to the alley across from Malfoy's – he had too many close calls apparating into the stairwell of the building to continue doing that.

Harry got to the building, tapping in the code to the door and waltzing in. Malfoy had given it to him the second day after Harry had stopped apparating into the building, annoyed with having to buzz him in every time.

"Sorry I'm late, the queue at the store was insane," Harry called into the flat as he entered. He went straight to the kitchen, dropping the plastic bags on the counter and beginning to take stuff out.

Malfoy leaned his head back over the back of the couch, frowning at the other man. "You already got food? We didn't even decide what restaurant to go to today."

"No restaurants today," Harry said, beginning to go through Malfoy's cupboards for cookware. He hadn't even considered if Malfoy actually had pots or pans.

Malfoy had gotten off the couch and was standing on the other side of the bar frowning at the ingredients displayed in front of him. "You know cooking spells? You know that you have to be really good at those for it to taste good, right? Magic can be surprisingly bitter."

Harry shook his head. "No magic, I'm doing it the muggle way." He opened the last cupboard below the counter, hoping beyond hope that he'd find something. "Do you not have a single pan?"

"If it wasn't left behind, then I don't have it," Malfoy claimed. "As far as muggle things, at least."

Harry huffed, straightening up again. "Well, I guess I need to go back to Grimmauld. I'll be right back."

"You're going to leave me alone with this?" Malfoy hissed, poking at the uncooked chicken.

"It's not going to bite you, and it'll only be for a moment."

Despite Harry's words, Malfoy continued to glare at the chicken like it was covered in mold. A terrible idea came to Harry's mind, but it was halfway out of his mouth before he realized how bad it was. "Well, you could-"

Malfoy's eyes snapped up to Harry. "You want me to come with?" he deciphered the rest of what Harry was going to say.

Harry shrugged. "We'll apparate, and it's just my house. No one will be there besides Kreacher." He noticed how Malfoy shifted uncomfortably and quickly added, "It's completely up to you, though. Like I said, it won't take long."

When Malfoy didn't respond, his eyes maintain on the ingredients on the counter, Harry decided to just go without pressing it anymore. "I'll be right ba-"

"I'll come."

Harry spun around to face Malfoy with wide eyes. "Really?" His mouth was gaping.

Malfoy glared at the clear shock on his face, crossing his arms. "I'll stay here if you're going to make a big deal about it."

"No, no. Come on," Harry urged. "I hate going there alone anyway."

"Why?"

Harry shook his head like his words were light and meaningless, but Malfoy could feel the weight in each syllable. "Just the memories."

"Well, then I guess I have to," Malfoy huffed, making Harry roll his eyes. Leave it to Malfoy to make it seem like he was being forced into something. "Let's go."

"Er, well, you'll have to…" Harry held out his arm, gesturing for Malfoy to grab hold.

"Oh, right." Malfoy uncrossed his arms but hesitated for a second before looping his arm around Harry's, a faint flush forming on his cheeks. The familiar pressing sensation pushed them through space.

They stumbled apart in front of the fireplace of the drawing-room. Harry shook out the uncomfortable, residual feeling of apparition - it was the main reason he preferred the Floo or walking to Malfoy's.

"So, this is Grimmauld?" Malfoy voiced, his eyes grazing the room. "It certainly looks like a house of Pureblood family."

"Who's there?" roared Kreacher from the landing above before thumped down into sight. His old face was twisted with disdain. "Get out! Master will be home any minute. Kreacher won't let another thief in this house."

"Kreacher, Kreacher, it's me," Harry urged, quickly stepping in front of Malfoy before the elf could attack.

"Master?" Kreacher looked up at the two men standing before him. His eyes widened. "Mister Malfoy!"

"Hello, Kreacher," Malfoy greeted. Harry looked between the two in confusion, not remembering ever introducing the pair. "He visited the manor once. He told my aunt- er- well…"

That was right. Kreacher had been the one who sold out the Order to Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. He's the one who told them that Sirius was a weakness for Harry. It was still difficult for Harry to look at Kreacher when he thought too much about his godfather.

Harry decided to push past the topic, looking down at Kreacher, who suddenly looked nervous by the conversation's direction. "We won't be here long," Harry informed the elf. "We need some pots and pans."

"What for?"

The attitude of the previous conversation seeped into Harry's tone before he considered it, "That's my business."

"Of course," Kreacher said quickly, bowing his head. "Sorry, Master. Kreacher will get the pots and pans."

Harry's guilt slapped him the second the words had come out. "No, no. It's okay. We'll come down and get it. I'm sorry."

Kreacher made a gruff noise and began to lead them down to the kitchen. Malfoy leaned towards Harry, lowering his voice. "I'm surprised Granger lets you speak to a house-elf like that."

Harry shook his head. "She'd curse me if she ever heard me talking to him like that. I didn't mean to."

Malfoy shrugged. "My father used to say much worse to ours all of the time. I used to laugh when he did." Harry started to open his mouth, the image of Dobby's fearful eyes whenever he thought he made a mistake splitting his mind. However, his words disappeared when Malfoy went on. "I don't think I ever really thought it was funny. I just preferred that he yelled at them like that than me."

All possible responses had vanished from Harry's mind. He stared at Malfoy, whose eyes were on the moldy walls of the hallway as if what he'd said was casual. Harry's thoughts pulled up memories of Uncle Vernon screaming at him for ironing his shirt wrong or overcooking dinner, and he wondered what Lucius Malfoy would scold his son for. Maybe he and Malfoy's upbringings weren't as different as he originally figured.

"What's that?" Malfoy asked when they reached the ground floor. He gestured to the drape, which hung over the portrait of Sirius' mother.

"Walburga Black," Harry answered. "She doesn't like me very much, or anyone really."

"Mistress just wants her house in order," Kreacher spoke up.

Harry had to physically bite his lips together to keep from making a retort. He didn't restrain his overzealous eye-roll. Malfoy couldn't help but laugh at his expression. Kreacher shot them a glare, and they both feigned innocence.

They soon got down to the kitchen, and Kreacher began to pull out pots and pans, allowing Harry to pick out what he needed. As the pair talked, Malfoy was left to wonder about the room. His eyes fell upon a door that went off the room - the cast iron handle was considerably fancier than any of the others in the house. "What's this room?"

Kreacher narrowed his eyes at the door Malfoy was pointing at. "The wine cellar, Sir."

"Wine?" Malfoy spoke rather enthusiastically. He threw open the door without any other prompting and beheld the small walk-in closet of vintage wine bottles. "Did you even know this room was here, Potter?"

After everything he would need for dinner was collected at the end of the table, he went over to meet Malfoy. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the various bottles. "Yeah, it does well as a whiskey substitute if I'm really desperate or really lazy, or both."

Malfoy snapped his head to the other man with wide eyes. The horror of his expression was that of if Harry had just disgraced the entire Malfoy line and included his unborn children for the hell of it. "Do you know what kind of treasures you have here? Obviously, it isn't as extensive as the one at Malfoy Manor, but they chose well for the limited space they had."

"Okay, well, pick one for dinner tonight," Harry suggested, mildly amused by Malfoy's sudden spark of interest.

Malfoy scoffed. "I can't just 'pick one.' What are we eating tonight?"

"Chicken," Harry said, though it came out as a question. Hadn't Malfoy seen it?

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I know that, but how are you cooking it?"

"In the oven?"

Malfoy slowly slid his head in Harry's direction, not even a whisper of glee pulling at his straight-lipped face. He looked so entirely unamused that it almost made Harry, himself, laugh.

"Really?" Malfoy said slowly. "I never would have imagined. I thought you were going to put it under a lamp and wait."

Harry shrugged. "Is there a wine for that? I can do it if you want. It may take a while."

Malfoy let out a long boisterous breath then pulled it all back in again as if he was summoning every ounce of calm he had left. Harry was curious if there was any left. Or maybe what it would take to get him to completely forget about his anger and start laughing.

"If you'd like to speed it up, I suppose I could show you how to use a blow-dryer. It might make it a little more evenly cook. Using the microwave may be dangerous… If we hurry back before it gets dark, we could use the sun. It might get a little damp, though; it's been raining all day." The more things Harry listed, the angrier Malfoy physically became. There was a vein popping out of his forehead by the time he mentioned the sun. Meanwhile, Harry's mouth had become twisted into a crooked smile.

"I hate you," Malfoy said as meticulously as possible, but there was absolutely no malice in his tone. And, the longer he stared at Harry's smile, the harder it was for him to resist the one growing on his own lips.

When Malfoy's smile was matching his own, laughter fell from his lips, delighted that he could, in fact, simultaneously annoy and make Malfoy smile. "I was thinking of making lemon and herb. I don't know how to make anything too complicated."

Malfoy took another deep breath. His smile began to fall. The cogs in his mind began to work. He turned back to the wine racks. "A crisp, dry white would probably suit that. A Chardonnay, perhaps." Harry hoped he was talking to himself because he had no idea what Malfoy was talking about.

After a little more incoherent mumbling, picking up bottles, then putting them back, he finally pulled one out and appeared satisfied.

"Ready?" Harry asked as Malfoy left the wine cellar.

It looked like Malfoy was going to agree, but he frowned when Harry went to pick up the cookware he had picked out. He turned to Kreacher. "Where are your wine glasses?"

Harry let out a groan. "Hush," Malfoy said offhandedly, following the house-elf as he trotted to the other end of the kitchen. This decision didn't take as long. Malfoy plucked two 'U'-shaped glasses from the cupboard and began to rejoin Harry.

Another frown formed on the other man's face as he looked first at Harry's load and then his own. "It's not very smart to apparate with glasses and pans," he commented quietly as if he hadn't actually wanted to say it out loud.

Harry was prepared to say they'd be fine but stopped. He looked between them as well. Apparation was dangerous on its own; he didn't want one of them to end up with a wineglass in the eye. He looked back at Malfoy, whose face was beginning to twist up in pain.

"I can apparate you to the apartment and then come back for this stuff," Harry suggested.

This option lightened Malfoy's face for a moment, but it fell once again. He shook his head. "That's just silly. Besides, this is a lot to carry on your own."

"I can just-"

Malfoy shook his head. "I-I'll walk with you." His voice cracked, and it made him cringe, but Harry was too amazed that he was even suggesting this to notice.

"Are you sure? I don't mind. I can do trips."

"No, no. Come on, before it gets too late."

Harry nodded, knowing it was better to ride out Malfoy's courage than keep pressing the matter. They got up to the ground floor, Kreacher closing doors behind them. They tucked the wine glasses onto the top of the pans, and Malfoy used his free hand to grab an umbrella from the troll foot beside the door.

They both said their goodbyes to Kreacher and started to make their way out. Harry watched Malfoy closely. It always took a moment of psyching up before Malfoy ever stepped out the door. This was no different. With a shaky breath, he pulled himself up to his full height then gave Harry a nod.

Harry stepped out first. Malfoy followed.

Their initial steps were small and slow, which was usual, but Malfoy soon began to quicken his pace to unnatural speed. They were so close under the umbrella, Harry could feel Malfoy shaking and how he jumped whenever another passerby came a little too close. Malfoy's eyes were darting everywhere, prepared for anyone to pop up and curse him.

Harry balanced the cookware on one hand for a moment, quickly slip his arm around Malfoy's, before holding it normally again. Malfoy's head snapped to him. His eyes were wide and wild, and his chest was visibly moving up and down from his rapid breaths. "You're okay," Harry hummed over the rain. "I'm right here."

Malfoy nodded slowly, his shoulders gradually easing. He squeezed Harry's arm closer, pressing their shoulders together.

In no time at all, they arrived at Park Row. Malfoy perked up when he began to recognize the buildings around them. "See, it wasn't that far," said Harry.

With a little jostling around, they put in the door pin and started up the stairs – Malfoy didn't trust magicless elevators. Soon enough, they were back to the flat, and Harry was finally able to begin dinner.

Malfoy took a seat at the bar, resting his head in his hands as he watched Harry work. He would ask questions here and there – why Harry was doing this and why he was doing that – but otherwise stayed in his seat and just let Harry do his thing.

Within an hour and a half, Harry pulled out a finished chicken and served it for two. "We'll have plenty of leftovers," he said as they moved to the table. "We won't have to go out for a while, thankfully. All of that takeaway has been bad for me; Auror's can't afford to start gaining weight."

Malfoy snorted. "I would pay to see people's expressions when fat Harry Potter walks up to their door to save them."

Harry shook his head, trying not to laugh at his own expense. "Shut up."

Before sitting down, Malfoy poured them each a glass of wine and offered one to Harry. To Malfoy's dismay, but not to his surprise, Harry drank the Chardonnay like it was a glass of water. "What?" Harry asked, seeing the other man's disheartened expression.

Without a word, Malfoy placed his glass on the table and swirled it around the glass before lifting it to his lips and taking a whiff; he considered the smell then took a sip, swishing it around his mouth then finally swallowing.

Harry made a face. "Now you're just being pretentious. There's no need for all of that."

Malfoy shook his head, "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but a lot of work goes into each of these bottles, and none is exactly like the last. It's only polite to appreciate everything that goes into each bottle."

"And is this knowledge just bred into purebloods, or is there some special etiquette school you all go to on the weekends?"

Malfoy gave a scoff. "Trust me, this isn't a pureblood thing; I can't imagine your Weasels have a fine palate."

"They may not know everything about wine, but Molly Weasley could outcook me any day. You should try her treacle tart. She always makes it for my birthday since she knows it's my favorite."

"I don't think I'm going to be invited around the Weasley house anytime soon," Malfoy mumbled. For a split second, Harry forgot who he was talking to and frowned at the other man. It wasn't until he noticed how concentrated he was on the steamed vegetables, pushing them around his plate with his fork, that it finally occurred to Harry what he'd said. Molly refused to even name a Death Eater, especially around George, let alone invite one over for dinner.

Harry sighed but didn't say anything more, deciding to stuff his mouth with food instead. Malfoy followed his example. The silence only lasted a second after the food touched Malfoy's lips. His eyes widened. "This is really good," Malfoy gushed, covering his mouth with a hand as he spoke around the food, too eager to wait until he'd finished chewing.

Harry, himself, found it hard to chew through his chuckles as he looked at the wide-eyed man. "Did you expect it to be bad?"

"Well…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"I just didn't realize you could actually cook," Malfoy urged. "I assumed you were just winging it and assuming it wasn't that hard." He was about to put more in his mouth but paused. "Please tell me you actually learned this somewhere, and it's not just one of your many natural talents."

" _Many_?" Harry repeated. He didn't think of himself as talented in much other than taking down dark wizards – maybe he was a fair flier. Malfoy looked at him like he'd said something dumb again. Harry shook it off, briskly. "I wouldn't say I was _taught_ , perse. I was just sort of expected to figure it out. My aunt showed me a few of her favorite recipes when I got old enough to handle them."

"Right, you were raised by your muggle relatives," said Malfoy though it seemed like it was supposed to be a reminder to himself rather than a statement. He focused on Harry again. "You're close to your aunt, then?"

It had been poor timing. Harry barely managed to keep the wine from coming out of his nose as he began to violently cough after taking a sip from his glass. Malfoy looked alarmed. He started to get up to help the other, man but Harry waved him away as he pounded his own chest with his other hand. Harry was eventually able to breathe properly, but he could still feel the alcoholic burn at the back of his nose as he spoke, "No, I wouldn't say that."

A firm crease was situated on Malfoy's brow as he stared at Harry, still unsure if he was completely all right. "I think I figured that out. Are you sure that you're okay?"

Harry nodded rapidly. He pounded his chest once more and cleared his throat before taking another full gulp of the wine. "Yeah, I'm good," he said, his voice still strained.

Harry's regular voice returned with one last gargle of his throat, and he began to explain. "My aunt and uncle hate magic." Malfoy straightened like a board. "They don't care much for anyone who practices it either - me included."

"So, they taught you how to cook so you couldn't use magic?"

Harry shook his head before raking a hand through his unruly fringe. "I was nine when she taught me. I didn't even know magic existed. They told me my parents died in a car accident," he added quickly, seeing the question form in Malfoy's eyes.

A sneer began to form on Malfoy's lip. To lump James and Lily Potter's deaths with such a common, muggle way to go was almost vulgar – no matter what side of the war one was on. He didn't interrupt, letting Harry continue. "It was mostly so I could cook for them."

"You cooked _for_ them?" Malfoy repeated. Harry gave a small shrug and nodded, taking another silencing bite of his dinner. He could feel Malfoy's eyes scanning him, even as he tried to focus on the steamed vegetables on his plate. "You mean like a house-elf? What else did they make you do for them?"

Harry began to shake his head as he acted as though he was too busy chewing on the bite in his mouth to answer. Not able to actually push the food down his suddenly closing throat, he muttered through it, "Just cleaning and stuff, it's not a big deal."

"So, you were their house-elf!"

"No!" Harry snapped without thought.

Malfoy snapped up to his full height as if he was ready to yell right back, but instead, he pushed his lips into a straight line and stared at Harry through narrow eyes.

Harry would have preferred if he'd started yelling. He could handle yelling. It didn't leave him room to think about what he'd just said.

It wasn't like he was trying to defend the Dursleys. Although he would never actively pursue it, he didn't think he would blink twice if they all died. He knew they didn't treat him right, but he also didn't like talking about it. Not even those closest to him really knew about his childhood.

While Ron and Hermione were aware that his situation with his relatives hadn't been pleasant, he'd never actually gone into detail about what it was like. He never saw a reason to. He had gotten out of it, and there was no reason to look back. What was the point in making them feel guilty? He was sure they had their own family stuff they didn't talk about with him. It was normal to not talk about one's family, right?

If he was going to talk about his family, then he wanted to talk about his parents, and his godfather, and his own godson. That's all that mattered. All of that stuff before had just been a bad dream, and he was awake and happy now. That door could stay closed along with most of the war.

He went to take another swig of his wine but found that he barely had a whole sip left in his glass. He grabbed the bottle from between them, cursing under his breath when it nearly slipped out of his slippery palms. He was about to try again, but he felt a cool hand over his. His eyes snapped up to Malfoy. For a moment, he was going to try to shoo him away so he could do it on his own, but he thought better of it and allowed Malfoy to take the bottle from him, pouring a second glass for Harry and topping off his own.

Harry took another large gulp of the drink, finally forcing the food down his cotton-filled throat. All the while, Malfoy was still watching him closely. Harry hoped this had ended the conversation, but deep down, he knew it hadn't.

"It wasn't just cooking and cleaning, was it?" Malfoy questioned.

Harry glared at him harder than he ever had in his life – which was saying something considering their past. He was trying to will him to shut up about it without having to risk an unsteady voice. Sadly, Malfoy had practice ignoring such looks.

"You do realize it is a big deal, right?" Malfoy urged. "You're Harry Saint Potter and a bunch of _muggles_ -" he spat the word, and if Harry thought he could speak without his voice cracking, he'd scold him for it, maybe he'd even succeed in changing the subject "- turned you into their personal servant. You saved the wizarding world at least twice on record. That's not even counting all the other times you probably did something irrationally courageous." Malfoy rolled his eyes like he'd pointed out one of Harry's flaws. "If the You-Know-Who couldn't even kill you, then a bunch of muggles shouldn't have been able to make you do their bidding. Did you at least go back and curse them?"

"There's no point," Harry urged, his voice breaking. "I don't give a fuck about them, so can we please stop talking about it?"

Malfoy didn't back down. "Just tell me where they live. I'm sure Pansy would love to curse a muggle or two."

"And I'd be the one who has to arrest her for hurting muggles!"

"Fine, she can slip poison in their afternoon tea. No one will have to know-"

"Malfoy, will you stop!" Harry bellowed. "I don't want to talk about this."

"But they shouldn't be able to get away with it," Malfoy argued. "Why have you never talked about this before? Muggles can't just-"

Harry's hands came down on the table before he realized he'd moved his arms. Malfoy jumped at the loud bang. Their silverware trembled. To Harry's great horror, Malfoy had pushed himself into his chair, his eyes wide as he trembled.

Harry scrambled to his feet. "I should go," he muttered. He left his half-eaten plate on the table and was halfway through the apartment by the time Malfoy was able to force his limbs to move.

Malfoy got up as well, reaching desperately for Harry. Malfoy could feel his chest beginning to tighten already. He wasn't sure what line he'd crossed, but he couldn't let Harry leave like this. "Wait, Potter," he pled. "Please, don't go."

Harry ignored his pleadings, recoiling away from the other man's reach. "Don't touch me right now," he snapped harsher than he meant to. Malfoy's heart clenched. Harry could see the hurt in his eyes, but he didn't take his statement back.

He rather hurt Malfoy's feelings than risk physically hurting him. He still couldn't look at Ginny the same way after the time she tried to calm one of his panic attacks by hugging him. He broke up with her the next week – he almost started vomiting when he heard her tell Ron the bruise on her arm was from a rogue Bludger.

Harry grabbed his coat and walked out the door, slamming it behind him to keep Malfoy from following. He knew he couldn't apparate. His mind was too full, with too much. He could walk home. Only once he was downstairs did he realize he'd forgotten the umbrella they'd brought up in the apartment. He couldn't risk going back and facing Malfoy again, so he braced the rain and let the storm wash away every dark thought in his mind.

Malfoy didn't move from the spot Harry had left him. He continued to stare at the white door with wide eyes.

So many times in the past, he had stood there and stared at that door for hours. He had told himself to get up and go out and not let the world scare him anymore. It seldom worked. It hadn't been until Harry started showing up that he stepped over the threshold without having to spend hours psyching himself up. However, he was pretty sure he had just ruined it.

In a matter of seconds, he began to dissect everything he had said and realized how insensitive he had been. Clearly, Harry didn't want to talk about it, he said as much, but Malfoy wouldn't shut up. He had been too furious at the thought that someone, a muggle, could humiliate Harry Potter in such a way that he didn't listen. Of course, Harry would be angry with him after that.

Malfoy shouldn't be surprised that he left. That's what he was best at, after all, making things worse, making people hate him. That's all he'd ever been taught to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Harry should have a lot more issues from his childhood. I honestly don't remember him ever really talking about it to his friends other than mildly bitter comments. (Correct me if I'm wrong, it's been a while since I reread the whole series.)


	5. Will & Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to listen to an amazing album that fits this story so well, then listen to Banners – Where the Shadow Ends. I literally just found it the other day, and every song is perfect for this fic. I am so in love!

Malfoy stared at the clock, his face twisted up in dismay. Harry was never this late. Maybe he had to work overtime, or he had mentioned Ron kept inviting him over after work. Perhaps he just went there for a bit first.

Who was he trying to fool? He knew Harry wouldn't be coming, not after he stormed out the night before. It was back to the old routine of reading and watching the walls like they'd eventually give him the courage to leave his flat on his own.

He had lost his appetite. The sun was already going down. Instead of waiting around for it to become a respectful hour to go to bed, he decided to just curl up and hope his mind would take pity on him and give him good dreams.

It had to have only been five or ten minutes, which passed before he heard knocking on the front door. He sat up like a pole in his bed.

For a flash, he got his hopes up and thought it was Harry. _He isn't coming_ , his thoughts cruelly reminded him.

Who was it then? It couldn't be his mother or Pansy; they never came by unannounced. His heart stuttered at the reminder that Skeres was still out free. Why would he knock, though? Even a wizard such as Skeres was capable of a basic unlocking charm.

Malfoy's legs shook as he made his way out of his bed and out into the hall. He stared at the door, wondering if he'd sufficiently taken up enough time getting there to bore whoever it was so they'd leave.

"Malfoy? Are you okay?"

Malfoy's heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be. He ran to the door, putting his eye to the peephole to see the distorted face of Harry Potter, himself.

His fingers trembled as he hurried with the locks before throwing open the door. "You came!"

Harry tilted his head, looking at the other man oddly. "Why wouldn't I?" Harry began to think back to their past conversations, trying to find when he'd ever said he wouldn't be coming by. He came up blank. "And why did you have the door locked?"

"After yesterday, I didn't think you were coming anymore."

The confusion on Harry's face smoothed. His shoulders fell, and he looked down at his trainers. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It's just better to not be around me when I'm like that."

Why was Harry the one apologizing? It was Malfoy's fault. He's the one who wouldn't shut up. Malfoy shook his head profusely. "No, I should have listened to you. You asked me to change the subject."

Harry nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I just-" He sighed long and hard before finally bringing his eyes up to Malfoy's face. "It's in the past. I don't want to think about it."

Malfoy found himself being nearly envious. He wished he could just lock stuff up like that. He had the opposite problem, where his mind would nitpick everything that ever happened to him until it slowly drove him insane. This was why he liked having Harry around, he distracted that part of his brain, and he was always moving forward so quickly that Malfoy couldn't linger on old thoughts.

"I won't bring it up again," Malfoy assured. He stepped aside, gesturing Harry inside. "Come on, we barely ate any of the food you made last night."

Harry stepped inside, starting towards the kitchen. "Damn, I forgot about that. I could have just come straight over without changing."

"Changing?"

"Yeah, I always have to go home before coming over to change into muggle clothes so I can get dinner. Auror uniforms aren't exactly standard muggle fashion," Harry explained. He opened the fridge to find the roasted chicken on its platter sitting on one of the shelves with not so much as a foil over the top of it. He sighed. He'd have to explain Tupperware to Malfoy later. "It's partly why I was so late tonight. That and I hadn't been expected to be at work at all, part of being an Auror, I guess."

Malfoy went to the cupboards to begin pulling out plates. He hesitated with the thought that roamed his head. Would Harry think it was too forward? He looked over at the tired look on the other man's face as he placed all of the food on the counter. "Well," Malfoy spoke up, putting extra attention in placing the plates down as quietly as possible, "I suppose I could spare a drawer or two if it would be easier for you."

Harry snapped his head up, and Malfoy quickly began to think of a way to take back his statement. "If you don't mind, yeah. That would help a lot."

He wasn't sure why, but Malfoy found himself smiling at this news. Maybe it was just the realization that the fears he had had only several minutes ago would become extremely unlikely in the future. If Harry was leaving stuff there, then he'd always come back.

They set up their plates and were soon sitting down to eat again.

After they were finished up, Harry took their dirty plates to the kitchen to wash them. Malfoy perched himself on one of the barstools to watch and continue their previous conversation as he had the night before when Harry was cooking. Harry knew he could clean everything up in a snap with his wand – he spent enough time in the Weasley household to know a few cleaning spells – but he wasn't ready to leave yet.

The image of Malfoy's wide, overly bright eyes and the utter relief across his whole body when he'd opened the door was still lingering in Harry's mind. He didn't realize how much he'd scared the other man.

In all honesty, he had considered skipping a night, just to give them a break from one another. That was the real reason he had dressed in muggle clothes; he had been halfway to his usual pub when he turned on his heel and went back the other way. He couldn't tell Malfoy that, though. He didn't want to worry him.

Sadly, with only two plates and cups, there wasn't much to wash. When he was going to put up the rest of the leftovers, he began to explain putting things in proper containers until he realized that Malfoy didn't actually own any. Malfoy still didn't really own much of anything. Most of the stuff he had was leftover by the previous owners or was stuff that Harry had gradually brought over from Grimmauld. About the only things that Malfoy truly owned was the table his mother bought him, the books on the shelving unit behind the dining table, and a few miscellaneous items like the dark green blanket on the back of the couch and the old alchemy box shoved in the corner that was likely forgotten about.

"If I don't get called into work, we should go shopping tomorrow," Harry said.

Malfoy tensed up. He shifted his weight in the chair. "What for?"

Harry gave him an odd look. "Don't you want some of your own stuff, or maybe just a little more? Like, more than two plates or two cups?" He gestured to the dishware he had just washed.

"It's enough for you and me," Malfoy urged.

"Yeah, but what if you have more than one person over? And honestly," Harry gave the flat one last skimming glance, "I never really pegged you as a minimalist. You've always, you know, liked your _stuff_. I mean, I remember Malfoy Manor. How can you go from that to this?"

Malfoy began to pick at his sleeve, his voice falling low until it was almost inaudible. "You're not the only one who rather not have a reminder of their past."

Harry's shoulders fell. Maybe it was time for him to leave. He didn't want to have a repeat of the night before. The thought of going back to Grimmauld didn't sound appealing, though.

Looking for a conversation changer, Harry's eyes fell on the boxy television sitting in the small entertainment center beside the fireplace. "Does that work?"

Malfoy followed his gaze, a grimace forming on his face when he realized what Harry was talking about. "I don't think so. I accidentally sat on the controller thingy, and people started talking really loudly. I had to pull it out the wall to make it stop."

Much like the conversation about the fridge, Harry had to restrain himself from laughing. He could just picture an extremely panicked Malfoy getting annoyed with a loud commercial and eventually just pulling on every wire he could find behind it.

"Let's see."

Harry walked around the counter towards the living room and knelt down beside the entertainment center. As he expected, everything had been pulled from the wall, including the power strip, which connected the VSR player and radio system. After plugging it all back in, he pressed the 'ON' button on the TV. It crackled to life.

The reason Malfoy had panicked so much suddenly became clear. A news station was playing, the volume cranked up as if the last person who had been watching wanted the whole neighborhood to hear. Harry smashed his hand against the row of buttons, trying desperately to turn it down.

When it was almost muted, he looked over at Malfoy, who was cowering behind the sofa with ears covered. "I told you!" he exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes. He looked around. "Where's the remote?" When all he got back was a confused look from Malfoy, he began to motion pressing a button with his thumb. "The controller, what you used to turn it on before?"

"Er, I don't know, I threw it when it wouldn't shut up," Malfoy said honestly.

Harry put a hand over his mouth the keep from bursting out with laughter. It didn't work well. Malfoy glared at him. He tried to choke back his chuckles as he started to look around.

After a few minutes of searching, he found the remote underneath the armchair. He eased himself onto the sofa, beginning to click through the channels.

Malfoy gradually lowered himself down on the other side of the seat, keeping his wary eyes on the television. "What is it? I tried telling them to quiet down, but they didn't seem able to hear me."

A smile was plastered across Harry's face, but he was able to keep from laughing at the very least. "It's called a television, and, no, they can't hear you. It's not like a painting. It's more like a photograph," Harry explained. "It's a recording, something that's already happened and can't be changed. Some of it is news. Others are more like stories. There's a ton to watch, really."

Harry remembered watching Hermione have this conversation with Ron when they moved into their flat together. His father's spirit had truly come out of him then. He had been so fascinated with the contraption that Hermione had to put a timer on it to make him go to bed the first week.

"Oh! What was that?" Malfoy urged, pointing at the television. "Can you go back?"

Harry had been mindlessly flipping through the channels, but he returned to the last program they'd just been on. A woman in a brown fur coat sat at a desk, speaking with a shrill voice before the camera flipped to another woman with red curls. Malfoy pointed at the screen. "Pansy's birthday is coming up. That coat would be perfect for her. Are you sure there's no way we can talk to them so I can ask her where she got it?"

"No, and I have a feeling we'll have to go a little farther than London for it," Harry said. "This is an American program."

"Americans are on here too?"

"All kinds are, but it's mostly American and Brits. I've never seen this one before. I haven't had a television in a while. It's probably new."

"Grace, tell Will to redirect his anger at his mother where it belongs," said the woman in the coat as she wrote something at the desk. After the red-head hung up the phone on a disembodied voice, which made Malfoy frown, the woman in the coat tore a check to hand to the red-head. "Guilt, be gone!" she exclaimed.

"What's a check?" Malfoy asked after the red-head berated her for offering one.

"A form of muggle money."

"Oh, wow, she's exactly like Pansy then."

They somehow ended up watching the rest of the program. Harry shifted a little uncomfortably when he realized halfway through that two of the characters were gay men. He looked over at Malfoy curiously. Either this didn't bother Malfoy, or he hadn't figured it out yet.

When the two characters were alone and having a conversation over dinner, Malfoy finally spoke up, and it nearly made Harry jump out of his skin. "Are you and Ginny still together?"

Harry looked at him oddly, wondering where that question had come from. After a moment, he realized that one of the characters had just mentioned their brother marrying a woman named Ginny. Morose, controlling, or icy were not words he would use to describe his Ginny as the character had.

"No," Harry admitted. "We ended it a few years ago. We were both too busy for relationships." And Harry was too unstable to trust himself with her.

"I can't imagine dating the Boy Who Lived is easy," Malfoy sighed. "I almost pity her."

Harry grabbed one of the cushions behind him to throw at the other man. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Malfoy shrugged, throwing the cushion back. "You're kind of a big deal. Girls have to be fawning over you all the time."

Harry never thought about that before. They were barely around each other near the end of their relationship, so he never really got to see her reaction to that. "I don't know what she thought of all of that. We just had a lot to deal with on our own. We both had some healing to do after everything."

There was a beat of silence. "So…" Malfoy kept his eyes locked on the screen, "you might get back together once you've healed?"

That thought had crossed his mind before. It was a hope he'd hung onto for several months after their breakup, but he eventually gave up. They were too similar in their grief. They both threw themselves into something else – anything else – just to make it all go away. For Ginny, it had been Quidditch. For Harry, it was being an Auror. He was aware of it; he didn't need Hermione and Ron's interventions to tell him that. It didn't make him stop, though.

It felt better to be at work, to be doing something that helped someone. It was strange for Harry to think about now, considering the past few weeks he'd been trying to get out of work so he could come over to Malfoy's. He hoped he was still helping someone.

"No," Harry answered Malfoy's question, finally earning his eyes. He looked at him, as well. "I care about her, but…I think that one's over for good."

Malfoy pursed his lips, nodding slowly as he turned his head back to the television. "Right, well, I'm sure all of the ladies are thrilled about that."

"If they are, I'm too busy to have noticed."

"Too busy for everything, then?"

Harry chuckled. "You sound like Ron and Hermione."

Malfoy made a face. "I need to stop doing that," he mumbled, making Harry chuckle. "But seriously, all you do is work?"

"Work and come here." Harry shrugged. "That's about it."

"Oh," Malfoy's face began to fall, "well if you ever want to go out instead of coming here, you can just tell me."

Harry frowned. "What? No, I like it here." Malfoy instantly perked up after hearing this. "It's nice having someone to talk to who isn't in the ministry or a house-elf – Kreacher isn't a great conversationalist."

Malfoy nodded slowly, pink blossoming over his cheeks as he tried to resist grinning. "I like having you here too."

As if they were both trying to prove their points, they began to see each other even more often the following days. Harry came over the next day to take Malfoy shopping for basic household items and stayed well into the evening to have dinner and watch more television. He also brought several sets of clothes with him, which they stuffed into the bottom drawer of Malfoy's dresser. When the weekdays returned, Harry started apparating straight to Malfoy's after work and not going home until well into the night.

It got to the point that Harry actively tried to avoid overtime. He hurried out of the office, usually before Ron could even say goodbye.

He liked being with Malfoy. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd admit that - even to himself. Harry could hardly believe they were the same boys who once despised each other in school. He knew why they had, but it seemed so ridiculous now. All of that mess, all of that hate, all of those fights about things much bigger than either of them; it was all laughable now.

Just as he once never thought he could be friends with his childhood nemesis, Harry now never thought he could actually hate him again. Not after he'd seen the excitement in his eyes when Will & Grace came on. Not after he'd seen him laugh at one of Harry's bad jokes. Not after he'd seen him cry when he thought about their past.

Harry Potter could never hate Draco Malfoy again.


	6. Puppy Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell ya, my obsession with BBC America growing up is my only saving grace with British slang and it's subpar at best.

Harry had had a long day. He was looking forward to just going to Malfoy's and curling up on the couch to watch TV. He silently thanked himself for cooking dinner the night before, meaning they had plenty of leftovers, and he wouldn't have to go out into muggle London to fetch dinner.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry called into the flat as he entered. "It was a long day." He kicked off his shoes and hung his cloak on the hanger by the door ― the medieval-styled ware standing out against the clean white wall.

He heard clinking in the kitchen and walked out of the hallway towards the sound. Malfoy stood over the sink, cleaning up dishes. "It's okay, I just remembered that we're out of clean-" He looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Merlin's beard, Potter!"

He dropped the plate he'd been holding with a loud clunk in the soapy water and rushed over to Harry. He desperately dried off his hands as he hurried over before lifting his fingers to Harry's jaw. "What happened?"

Harry frowned at him until he remembered his busted lip. He had gotten used to the swollen feeling, so he'd almost forgot about it. "Our culprit got away from me," he sighed.

"Why haven't you healed it?"

"I'm no good at healing charms, and I was too busy trying to figure out how to track him down again. We're pretty sure he left the country. I had to spend an hour trying to talk to the French Auror department, and all they did was say how they would _never_ let anyone escape so easily!" Malfoy was listening intently, but Harry shook his head. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I'm not supposed to talk about work."

"Well, at least let me heal you."

"I'm fine. I just want to relax."

Malfoy clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "It'll only take a few seconds. Just stop complaining."

"I'm not!"

Before Harry could form another functional thought, Malfoy pulled his wand from his pocket and took a tighter hold of Harry's chin. A chill ran down his back as he watched Malfoy stare at his mouth, a physical shutter rolling through his body when Malfoy gently ran his thumb over the wound. Malfoy tore his hand away. "Did that hurt?"

"Yeah," Harry lied. "A bit."

"Sorry," Malfoy muttered. He didn't put his hand back on Harry's face, and Harry found himself oddly disappointed.

Instead, Malfoy raised the tip of his wand to Harry's mouth and whispered something. Harry instantly felt his skin begin to mend itself, his bottom lip returning to regular size.

Harry smacked his lips together a few times before giving a quick closed-lipped smile. "All better."

Malfoy sighed. "Just be more careful next time, okay?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask to be punched."

"Knowing you, you probably did without knowing it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Malfoy turned back to the dishes, waving a hand behind him. "Go get cleaned up. You're filthy."

"Can I use your shower?"

Malfoy looked back over his shoulder, hands still in the suds, and wrinkled his nose as if he had smelt something terrible. "Please do."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said with no malice at all.

Harry went to Malfoy's bedroom. It looked mostly the same as usual - same light timber furniture and plain white bedding paired with light green walls - but he did notice a small cauldron sitting on the dresser that wasn't there before. There were a few potion ingredients next to it, nothing too hard to get - Harry suddenly understood why he kept running out of ginger so quickly when he swore he just got some.

"Git," Harry grumbled to himself. He leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and found a few familiar t-shirts and sets of jeans.

It was so much easier to come straight over and change at Malfoy's instead of stopping at home first. He grabbed a set of clothes and went to the en suite to shower.

He tossed his clothes on top of the vanity before beginning to strip off. He was only down to his pants when he caught his reflection in the large mirror and paused.

Malfoy had done an excellent job at healing his split lip; there wasn't even any bruising left. He never pictured the other man as the healing type, but he did remember the first time Harry found himself in Malfoy's flat. Clearly, he had to have some experience in the field.

Harry prodded his lip and didn't feel the slightest bit of pain. Yes, Malfoy defiantly had some experience. There was usually some residual sting after healing; the last person he met who could do it so flawlessly was Madam Pomfrey.

He ran his finger across the length of his lower lip to look for any imperfections; however, a strange thought entered his mind. Malfoy was still running ramped in his thoughts, and therefore they brought him back to only seconds ago when Malfoy was tracing his thumb over Harry's lip. Another shudder ran down his spine.

That had felt so strange, he told himself. He traded his index finger for his thumb and softened his touch, attempting to reenact Malfoy's actions. It didn't feel the same. Harry's heart didn't beat quite as fast as it had when it was Malfoy touching him. Harry's fingers were too coarse, too wide, too warm. He began to manufacture scenarios where he could get Malfoy to do it again. It was when he began to debate getting punched again that he realized how bizarre his train of thought had become.

Harry shook his head profusely. He was just tired from work. He wasn't thinking straight. With another good shake of his head, he resumed what he'd gone into the bathroom to do.

After a quick rinse, he got dressed and met Malfoy in the kitchen again. Malfoy was already heating up the leftovers. He handed a plate to Harry as he passed him to pull his own out of the microwave, then followed Harry to the dining room.

"I saw the cauldron in your room," Harry commented, watching Malfoy pour the red wine he had pilfered from Harry's wine cellar the other day. "Are you working on potions again?"

Malfoy shrugged. "A little bit. I think I've read every book I own twice and the morning shows aren't as good as the ones in the evening. It's mostly just muggle news."

"Are you working on anything specific?"

"Not really," Malfoy admitted sounding rather dismal about this fact. "I only brought along a few spare ingredients. It's mostly bits and ends of several different potions. I'm honestly just making horrible tasting stock."

"If you give me a list, I can go down to Diagon Alley and get what you need tomorrow," Harry suggested.

Malfoy gave him an odd look. "I wouldn't make you do that. You don't like going into wizard populated areas either."

Harry swallowed down his mashed potatoes before shaking his head. "I _prefer_ muggle shops, but I can make a few stops if you need me to. It's no problem."

Malfoy pushed around the peas on his plate. "Well, I could use some Hellebore syrup. Unicorn horn wouldn't hurt either."

Harry chuckled at the other man's attempt at being oblique. He found himself thinking Malfoy's slight pout and small fiddling to be cute. "Just write it all down, and I'll get it later. You can always ask me if you need anything from over there."

Malfoy nodded slowly, his eyes flicking up as a small smile spread across his lips. "Thank you."

Harry looked away quickly, his speeding heart suddenly feeling restricted and uncomfortable in his chest. He took his glass of wine and tried to swallow down the cotton in his throat.

The conversation shifted, and Harry was marginally able to regain his usual composure. It wasn't easy. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him today, but he really needed to sort himself out.

After their meal, they moved to the sofa where Harry put on a movie they had rented ― their usual program only airing on Saturday. It was an easy-going movie though Harry barely remembered what it was actually about. Malfoy's sofa was far too comfortable, and he had worked too much; it was all a recipe for disaster, or at least an inability to keep his eyes open.

\---

The sun streamed into Harry's eyes. His sleepy brain assumed he'd crashed on Ron and Hermione's sofa again; he couldn't be in his own bedroom at Grimmauld, light usually avoided the windows of the townhouse as if it was magically inclined. The clinking sound in the kitchen was alarming, considering there was a fifty-fifty chance it was Hermione, which was never good.

Only when Harry levered his eyelids open and saw bright white instead of cozy browns and reds did he begin to think harder. He slowly sat up, rubbing at his eyes as he patted around himself for his glasses.

"They're on the coffee table," called a disembodied voice. Harry turned at the sound but only saw more light colors moving across his fuzzy, sleep worsened vision. He bent forward again, groping around at the coffee table. Finally, he found the round rims he was looking for and pulled them onto his face.

The momentary panic he felt at seeing unfamiliar surroundings faded quickly when a pointy-faced blonde came into focus. Malfoy stood in the kitchen, busying himself over what looked like two cups of tea. "Good morning, Princess Potter," he crooned.

Still trying to register what was going on, Harry silently blinked at the well-lit living room. He was at Malfoy's, he could figure that out, but it took a little longer for him to remember that they'd been watching a movie. He must have fallen asleep. He started to get up and, as he did, noticed the blanket that was usually on the back of the couch was wrapped around him though he never remembered pulling it down. He tore it off, messily throwing it back into place before getting to his feet and stretching to his full height with a yawn.

Malfoy looked away quickly, trying to pay no mind to how the other man's shirt had risen up to display his midriff when he raised his hands above his head.

"Sorry about falling asleep," said Harry at the backend of his yawn. He dropped his arms to his sides and blinked at the black screen of the television for a few seconds. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, turning back to Malfoy. "Was it a good movie? I don't remember any of it."

"No, I imagine you wouldn't; you were snoring halfway through," Malfoy teased.

Harry scoffed. "I don't snore."

"I beg to differ."

Harry didn't argue further, only rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He walked with wide, stretching steps over to the bar. "You could have sent me home." Harry's husky voice caught Malfoy's attention more than his words had.

After a few mind-clearing blinks, Malfoy responded. "You looked comfortable, and I know you had a long day. I really don't mind."

Harry's glazed eyes watched Malfoy pour water into two teacups without actually seeing it. It was only when Malfoy stopped moving, waiting for the tea bags to steep, that Harry seemed to come out of his trance. "I haven't slept that well in ages," he muttered more to himself than to Malfoy. He blinked again, faster this time as he tried to catch up with what he had said.

It was a true enough statement. The last time he had slept that soundlessly was the night after the Battle of Hogwarts, and that was mostly out of pure exhaustion rather than actually being able to calm his mind enough to sleep peacefully. If it wasn't his perpetual nightmares keeping him up, then it was the ominous feeling of Grimmauld Place looming over him that gave him fits at night ― he swore that place was watching him.

Malfoy watched the other man's face, seeing as it grimaced at distant thoughts. He had a feeling he knew what Harry meant. It once took copious amounts of sleeping draught to keep him in bed at night though he had run out of the ingredients for it ages ago ― it's what he'd been trying to make on his dresser.

Malfoy couldn't say he slept poorly the previous night, though. He'd actually found comfort relatively quickly after he had saved Harry's glasses from breaking under his heavy head and pulling the throw blanket over his sleeping form.

"I'll admit," Malfoy left the counter across from Harry to pull something out of the cupboard, "I've fallen asleep on that sofa more than once." He came back, placing a bottle of honey between them. "It's no four-poster king, but it's certainly comfortable. If you ever have trouble sleeping at home, you're certainly welcome to it." He began to pour the honey into one of the cups, slowly stirring in the sweetener.

Harry was too busy watching his hands to comprehend what he was saying. He snapped his eyes up to Malfoy. "You mean spend the night?"

Malfoy's hand stopped, mid-stir. He looked up with an uncertain jitteriness in his eyes. "Only if you want to," he said quickly. "I'm not saying you have to move in."

A pang in Harry's chest was paired with a flashing thought of hurt that Malfoy had shot down that idea so quickly. He quickly pushed it away. "I just assumed that you see me enough. Aren't you getting sick of me?"

"Surprisingly not," Malfoy said. Harry started to feel dejected again, but he found the other man smiling softly down at his drink. The same expression grew on Harry's lips.

"Well, if I do end up staying here, we'll need to get a coffee machine," said Harry. "I'm not much of a tea guy."

"You're English!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can be English and not like tea."

"I always knew you were a freak," Malfoy grumbled, bringing his cup up to his lips for a taste.

"Says you, why are you putting honey in it?" Harry urged. "I mean, it's better than Hermione. Hers is seventy percent sugar; I think she really has a sweets problem now that she doesn't live with her parents."

"It tastes better with Oolong," Malfoy explained. "Or, that's the way my mum always made it." He gestured to a yellow tin on the counter with Chinese script. "She just sent me some more the other day."

Seeing Harry's apprehensive look, Malfoy offered his own cup, which was pre-sweetened. "Here, just try it."

Not missing the nuance of sharing dishware, Harry took the cup into his hand. He glanced at Malfoy, who gave an exaggerated eye roll at his hesitation. Finally, he brought the drink to his lips. It was a dark rich flavor, although the honey brought out its natural sweetness.

Malfoy raised a brow expectantly.

Harry pursed his lips, trying not to smile. He handed the cup back, looking up at the ceiling to avoid Malfoy's knowing eyes. "It's good, I guess."

"Would you like a cup of your own?" Malfoy asked slowly.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe one."

Malfoy scoffed but began to stir honey into the other cup he had already prepared. Each of them sipping off their own cups, they moved to the couch and sat in silence, enjoying the early morning silence.

"I suppose I should go home," Harry sighed as he looked down at his empty cup. "I'm already coming over for dinner. You wouldn't want me here all day."

Harry could feel Malfoy look at him and assumed he was deciding how to agree nicely. "I never said that."

Harry's eyes snapped up. Malfoy was frowning at him, looking rather concerned that Harry would say such a thing. "All night and all day? Are you sure I'm not moving in?"

The crooked smile on Harry's face stirred something in Malfoy. He snapped his head forward and glared his frustration into the fireplace. "You can do whatever, but I'm not sharing a bed with you. I like to stretch."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm okay on the sofa."

"Aw," Malfoy hummed, pulling on a sarcastic smile as he looked back at Harry, "it would be like having a guard dog out here. Then again, I don't think I'd let my dog sleep on the furniture if I had one. It's far too expensive."

"You didn't even buy it!" Harry urged.

Malfoy brushed a loving hand over the ivory upholstery. "Yes, but it _looks_ expensive. Don't want to ruin that," he gave Harry a cheeky grin, "do we, Puppy?"

Harry's eyes became the size of bludgers, his mouth falling agape. However, his offended expression became ruined as he struggled to keep the smile off his face. "Oh, really!"

"We can get you a nice little doggy bed for the corner," Malfoy said, waving a hand to the empty spot beside the television. "It'll be all cozy." He could barely keep a straight face for himself, feeling Harry's bafflement rising.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Harry standing up. He looked up to see the other man coming at him with one of the pillows. "Wait, wait! I still have tea!" Malfoy exclaimed, trying desperately to get his tea to the coffee table before he was attacked.

Thankfully, nothing got on the 'expensive' sofa before he was brutally attacked. Malfoy pulled up the cushion from behind his back and tried to defend himself. The pair of men wrestled for several minutes. Laughter and taunts were ringing in the air. It stopped only when Harry began to fall off the sofa. Malfoy was no help, trying to speed up the processes.

There was a loud thump, and Harry's stomach sank as he fell onto the plush, grey carpet. Malfoy burst out into loud cackling, holding his stomach. "You should have seen your face!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think Saint Potter could get so scared."

"Sod off, git!" Harry snapped, smacking the other boy in the face with his pillow. Malfoy only blocked the hit with his arm and continued to laugh.

"All right, laugh at this," Harry huffed. He got back up and sat on the couch, leaning his full weight back onto Malfoy's splayed body.

"Oi! You're heavy, you big oaf!" Malfoy exclaimed, trying to push Harry off. Harry spread his arms out, almost laying parallel to Malfoy now. "Merlin, we need to stop ordering Italian."

"Bastard!"

"Cow!"

"You know what, this is comfortable," Harry claimed. "I think I'll watch some shows like this." He tried to reach the coffee table for the remote but ultimately had to sit up briefly to get it. Malfoy took the advantage and sprung up as well.

He didn't get out of the way before Harry leaned back and crushed him into the back of the sofa again. This was even less uncomfortable than before for both of them. Harry ignored the feeling of Malfoy's shoulder pressing against his spine and pushed back more.

Malfoy tried to shimmy away ― or at least into a more comfortable position ― but ended up having Harry practically sitting in his lap. "You're insufferable," Malfoy grumbled.

Harry leaned his back onto Malfoy's shoulder, a massive grin on his face. "I thought I was a cute puppy?"

Malfoy looked down at him out of the corner of his eye. Something wrung his insides, and suddenly he wished very desperately for Harry to get up. He swallowed hard, attempting not to look at the other man. "I never called you cute."

Harry marveled at the aggravation he was causing. He could also see other things from this proximity, such as the curve of Malfoy's pronounced cheekbones and the sharpness of his jawline. Harry's smile fell.

With some throat clearing, Harry finally pushed himself off of the other man.

He was acting childish. He shouldn't have done that.

"Well, I'm not a dog either," Harry said as he started to move toward the corner of the sofa that Malfoy had been in previously.

Malfoy shifted as well. He pulled both of his legs up onto the couch and clutched one of the pillows, his knee brushing against Harry's thigh. Harry stopped moving over. There was as an inch or so left between himself and the armrest, so he grabbed the pillow he previously had and stuffed it in the space; it was fluffy enough that he even had to shift back towards Malfoy a little bit.

They sat like that for several hours, watching various weekend morning programs.

It wasn't until one o'clock that Harry began to consider lunch. When a commercial began to play, he got up and went to the fridge only to come across a scarce amount of food. "Damn, we finished the leftovers."

He closed the fridge and looked over at Malfoy, who was looking back at him over the back of the sofa. "I can go pick something up if you want. Or we can go to that café around the corner that we saw the other day," he suggested haphazardly. His eyes flicked across the other man's face, realizing too late what he had said. Malfoy's face had fallen, his jaw tensing. "I'll just go pick something up," Harry urged. "What do you feel like today?"

Harry picked up the pile of takeaway menus and began to sift through them to busy his gaze. In the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy stand up and start to come closer.

Malfoy swallowed hard, trying to bottle up as much courage as he could. He crossed his arms, picking at his sleeve under his folded arms as he tried to appear calm. "Actually," he leaned his hip against the counter, looking down at the menus as well, "that café looked really nice. I wouldn't mind that." As much as he didn't like leaving the flat, he would much rather take his chances outside to spend time with Harry than sit around by himself.

Harry's eyes snapped up. He scanned Malfoy's expression, searching for any hidden anxiety. He could see the tightness in his jaw but no true uncertainty. "Are you sure?" he asked as a last attempt. They were having a nice day; he didn't want to try to push Malfoy too much.

The blonde rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't mean it. Let's go."

Harry nodded vigorously, deciding to go with it while he could. They both tugged on their shoes and coats then headed out the door. Though it wasn't drizzling at the moment, the overcast above warned them to bring an umbrella just in case. When they got out onto the street, they found the usual quiet of Park Row, but Malfoy began to tense up when they got to the main road. Harry instinctually looped their arms together, partly to comfort and also to keep them from getting separated on the busy pavement.

The previous weekend, when Harry had taken Malfoy shopping for houseware, they had stumbled upon a small corner café that appeared relatively peaceful. After a short walk ― and the use of Malfoy's far better sense of direction ― they arrived at the English Rose Café.

It was a quaint place. When they opened the door, they found several high-top tables spread around the room, only one of which was occupied. A comfortable sofa and two armchairs were pushed underneath a set of windows. Several university students crowded around the area as they fussed over a project, their coffee mugs strewed about in dubious places.

"Good afternoon," greeted a tired-looking girl in an apron. Harry pulled Malfoy, who was too busy staring at the muttering uni students, up to the counter. "What can I get for you?"

"Cappuccino and," Harry clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue as he examined the menu, "a ham and swiss."

She wrote down Harry's order, and her eyes flicked over to Malfoy. He was staring at the chalkboard menu behind her in confusion, not recognizing half of the options. When he didn't say anything right away, she glanced at their still connected arms before looking at Harry again. "Are you two together?"

Both men's attention snapped to her, their eyes wide. They both untangled themselves and took half steps away from one another. "What?"

The once tired girl quirked a brow. The corner of her mouth twitched as she tried to repress a smile. "I mean, are you on the same tab?"

"Oh, er, yeah," Harry mumbled, scrubbing the back of his neck.

Her smile was steadily growing, and she looked to Malfoy again. "What would you like, Sir?"

Malfoy opened his mouth, furrowed his brow at the menu, and then closed his mouth again. Harry sighed, shaking his head. "He'll take the same."

Malfoy pouted at him. "I can-" He glanced at the menu once more. "Okay, yeah, the same."

The girl bit her lip hard, now hardly repressing her grin. She wrote down their orders and began to work on the coffees, her voice trembling with repressed laughter as she told them they could sit anywhere. They chose the high-top next to the windows.

Their conversation began with Malfoy trying to defend his confusion. He insisted that the cafés he'd gone to in France did not have as nearly many options, to which Harry lowered his voice and leaned closer to question how many of them were wizarding cafés. Wizarding cafés tended to have two options for coffee ― with or without milk ― and the rest was up to the drinker. Malfoy stopped arguing after that.

Their orders arrived, and they talked about the shows they'd watched that morning. The original occupants of the café eventually left. A few more wandered in and out when they were there; it wasn't until the barista asked if they wanted a third round of coffee that they finally decided to move their conversation back to the flat.

Once they were back inside the safe walls of 3B, they began to talk about quidditch and what they used to get up to in their common rooms to curve boredom. It was mostly wizards' chess and exploding snap. However, the Slytherins had a fun game of trying to annoy grindylows, which floated past their underwater windows ― the winner was whoever got one annoyed enough to run itself into the glass.

Day turned to night, and they had dinner together then watched Will & Grace. It might have been a perfect day had Harry not had to go back to Grimmauld. Of course, he didn't have to. Malfoy had offered to let him spend the night whenever but he couldn't have possibly been serious. Malfoy had to be getting sick of him eventually. No one had ever _wanted_ to spend that much time with Harry. However, he fell asleep to the thought that maybe, just maybe, Malfoy actually did.


	7. March

Harry didn’t spend the night again for a while, despite how tempted he was or Malfoy’s continual assurance that it was not a problem. Harry just couldn’t bring himself to take up more space than he already was ― half of his cookware was already there, and his wardrobe was following suit.

They never stopped spending evenings together, though, their little routine continuing like clockwork. The most significant change was Malfoy’s attitude. He seemed to have retained some of his old confidence after Harry brought him the potion ingredients he had asked for. The flat almost always smelt like something was cooking though it was a tossup if whatever it was smelt pleasant.

Harry was just leaving work on Thursday when his eyes brushed past the memorial statue which had taken the place of the last two monuments which stood there ― the _Fountain of Magical Brethren_ and _Magic is Might_ statues. It depicted several familiar faces, including Albus Dumbledore, Cedric Diggory, and Dobby the house-elf. All of the names of the fallen from both wizarding wars were etched into the base. When it was first put up, Harry had to forcibly avoid the atrium or otherwise be stuck staring at the faces he once saw with life behind their eyes or the various names that were too familiar. It was almost impossible to avoid completely.

After two years of it being up ― it had been put up on the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts ― he was mostly able to coexist with the piece. However, there were days when it was hard. Days when he remembered…

His gaze became stuck on the house-elf. It was the end of March already, wasn’t it? Had he really not remembered that earlier? He spun around, searching for the date to be written somewhere. He finally found it over the main secretary’s desk. It was the twenty-ninth of March. His heart stuttered.

He tried to shake away the thoughts, but his eyes found the statue again. It was a much larger version of Dobby, but he could picture it swaying. Stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. He and the elf looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest.

Harry had to forcefully resist opening his mouth to call for help. He knew it wasn’t real, but his body trembled nonetheless. He clutched at the front of his uniform, pressing the metal buttons into his palm, desperately hoping the cold metal would replace the ghostly memory of a limp elf body in his hands.

The boy who the elf stood beside began to move as well. A green light flashed across Cedric Diggory’s handsome marble face. For a moment, Harry was standing in that graveyard again, looking down at Cedric’s dead body beside him.

Suddenly he was back in the atrium, but it didn’t help. The crowds which moved around him began to feel claustrophobic. They moved too quickly. His eyes darted around. His breath quickened. The faces of the people blurred.

His thoughts were becoming distorted. Instead of clean business robes, he saw tattered clothes damaged from spells gone awry and falling debris. The ministry atrium flashed in and out, the walls appearing to transform into gothic architecture, much like Hogwarts castle. Flashes of light from watches and hair clips shone in Harry’s eyes like curses and jinxes, making him cringe away.

He felt his wand slip into his hand. There was something he was supposed to be doing. He was supposed to be looking for something. He had to move.

Before he began to move his feet, he saw a form dash towards him. His hand tightened around his wand. It was a hooded figure. Was it Voldemort? Had he finally joined the fight to kill Harry?

What spell should he use?

Expeliarmus.

Depulso.

Avada Kedavra.

Just as Harry began to raise his wand, the figure bumped into someone ahead of him. Their hood almost fell off. It wasn’t a hood, though. It was a hat, and the man pressed it onto his head to keep it from tumbling off. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized quickly to the person he’d bumped into. “I’m late for a meeting.”

Harry blinked rapidly. A meeting. What meeting was going on right now? Then, for a moment, he remembered where he actually was. He was lightheaded from his heavy breath, but he knew he needed to get out of there.

Without a thought, he hurried to one of the Floos and went to Grimmauld.

“Who’s there?” barked Kreacher from another room as Harry stumbled out of the fireplace.

“It’s me, it’s me,” Harry assured, his voice gruff as he clasped his head, trying to steady his thoughts.

“Master Harry?” asked the elf as he padded into the room. “Kreacher wasn’t expecting you. Master always goes to Malfoy’s after work now.”

“Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed. He was supposed to be going to Malfoys right now. He couldn’t just skip, not without warning him. He didn’t want Malfoy to see him like this, though.

Harry’s head was pounding. He wasn’t sure he could even apparate if he wanted to. Another flash of memory forced its way into his thoughts. A strangled sound escaped his mouth as he clutched the roots of his fringe.

Kreacher looked the man up and down. He recognized this behavior well enough. “Would Master like his bottle of whiskey?”

“Yes- No! Wait.” The elf started towards the alcohol cupboard but stopped at Harry’s request. “Go to Malfoy’s,” Harry ordered. Harry went through his pockets, searching for the muggle wallet he now kept on him at all times since he didn’t stop at Grimmauld before going out anymore. He pulled out the slip with Malfoy’s address and handed it to the elf. “Tell him I’m not feeling well, and I won’t be over tonight. I’ll be in my room.”

Obligated to listen, Kreacher snapped out of the kitchen before Harry had even gotten to the door.

\---

Malfoy was sitting on the sofa with intentional poise, his legs propped up on the cushions and a book in his hands as he tried not to check the clock every five seconds. He was failing. He couldn’t help it; Harry should have been there by now.

The familiar snap came from the kitchen, but Malfoy didn’t look up, pretending to be more interested in his book. Flipping a page, he hummed, “Is it already time?”

“Malfoy, sir?” croaked an unfamiliar voice. Malfoy jumped. His eyes snapped to the kitchen, looking for the source but not seeing anything over the counter. Padded steps grew closer. He hurried to grab his wand off of the coffee table and scrambled to his feet.

The moment he saw movement, he began to cast a jinx. His wand spun out of his hand before he could even speak. There was a brief moment of panic before he found relief. He gaped at the old house-elf standing before him, holding his wand.

“You dare disarm a wizard!” Malfoy snapped purely on impulse.

Kreacher’s shoulders fell. He offered the wand back. “Kreacher apologizes. Kreacher has been told to defend himself against wizards because Master Potter often forgets where he is.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Malfoy urged as he took his wand back. “It’s a reflex.” He frowned, his eyes darting around as if he had missed Harry. “Where is Potter? Why did he send you?”

“Master is not feeling well today. He sent Kreacher to tell Mr. Malfoy that he won’t be coming today.”

“Not feeling well?” Malfoy repeated. He seemed fine the night before. If he was sick, then should he really be alone? He had Kreacher, but Malfoy had always preferred his mother taking care of him instead of one of their elves. What if it was something serious? He couldn’t imagine Potter would actually go to a healer if it was. He’d likely even refuse to let Kreacher get help. “How bad is he?”

Kreacher hesitated as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on Kreacher? Is he really sick?” A dreaded thought filled Malfoy’s mind as he considered that Harry had sent his house-elf to lie to get out of seeing him.

The truth made him feel worse. “Master Potter has fits,” Kreacher said carefully. “He thinks he’s somewhere else or gets angry and yells and throws things. He doesn’t like Kreacher to be in the room.”

“Fits?” Malfoy repeated carefully. None of that sounded like Harry, especially against a helpless house-elf. Another cold, slimy feeling ran down his body as his thoughts went to his father. He couldn’t be like that.

Kreacher nodded slowly. “Or he breathes heavy and shakes and cries, mutters things about Kreacher’s old master and Dumbledore and Moody. Kreacher has tried to get help, but he doesn’t let Weasley or Granger around.”

Cold understanding finally found its way to Malfoy. His initial thoughts said that he didn’t believe it. Potter always seemed so put together. He helped Malfoy through his own panic attacks for Merlin’s sake.

Potter couldn’t have the same trouble. He was always so good at it, though. He knew the signs. He knew the right words to say and to ask permission before touching. Malfoy should have realized he was just doing what he had always wanted in return.

“Take me to him,” Malfoy demanded.

Kreacher’s face twisted into a grimace. “Master doesn’t like people around-”

“You served the Black family first,” Malfoy snapped. “Technically, I’m a Black. You have to listen to me.”

The logic wasn’t entirely sound, but it was a good enough excuse to disobey. The elf watched his master go through these fits for three years. If he could get around his master’s rules to get help, then he’d do it.

With a low grunt of agreement, Kreacher reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s sleeve. Malfoy’s breath was pushed out of his lungs, and he stumbled when he finally found the ground beneath his feet. After a moment, he recognized the kitchen of Grimmauld. The elf began to move before he had completely caught his bearings, starting up the steps out of the basement. Malfoy hurried after.

They went up the rickety steps, further than Malfoy had gone last time. They stopped on the landing of the second floor. One door was cracked open. Heavy breathing could be heard from inside, occasionally broken by a whimper.

Malfoy stepped slowly towards the door. He didn’t want to frighten Harry, but he was, despite his best intentions, scared of what he was about to see. He pushed gently on the door.

After Kreacher had left, Harry had scrambled up to his bedroom. There was a clearly worn mark on the carpet between the two twin beds where Harry had paced this time and many times before.

He had sat on the bed he slept on for a bit, but the feeling of having his back exposed ate at him. He dropped himself into the little nook between his bedside table and bed. His legs were brought up to his chest. His fingers twisted in his hair and his face tucked between his knees. He rocked a bit, trying to keep himself grounded with the pain of the corner of the nightstand digging into his back.

Not in a million years would Malfoy have believed he would ever see Harry Potter in such a position. To look so vulnerable. To be in just as much pain as Malfoy, himself.

“Potter?” Malfoy’s voice had come out on a whisper, but it startled Harry like he’d yelled the name.

He hit his head back against the table when he looked up. A hiss of pain left his mouth as he clasped the back of his skull. His wide, panicked eyes stared wildly up at Malfoy. For a split second, Malfoy considered putting up a shield charm. He understood now why Kreacher was ordered to protect himself against wizards.

Harry’s eyes fell to the house-elf, which remained outside of the room, only looking in with one eye. The panic was replaced by rage as he jumped to his feet. “I told you to tell him I wouldn’t be coming over, not bring him here!” he roared so fiercely that Malfoy jumped back.

Harry’s eyes darted back to Malfoy, noticing his fear. Harry suddenly began to dig through his pockets before pulling out his wand. Malfoy tightened his hold on his own. Instead of attacking, Harry threw the piece of wood on the ground and pushed himself harder against the table. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he urged, refusing to look at Malfoy. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Malfoy shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere!”

Harry’s furious gaze landed on Malfoy, and he took a threatening step forward. “Leave,” he thundered.

While his tone caused Malfoy to flinch, he recovered quickly, pulling himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders. “No.”

“I don’t-” Harry tried to remain forceful, but his voice broke. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“And how is that far?” Malfoy snapped. “You’ve seen me blubbering like an idiot because I don’t want to leave the house. We’re friends, aren’t we? What kind of friend would I be if I only accepted help and didn’t give any?”

“A smart one!”

“A selfish one,” Malfoy corrected. “And I’ve been selfish enough. Let me help you.”

“You can’t,” Harry growled. He crossed the room in two wide strides and grabbed Malfoy by the arm. “You need to leave.”

Harry began to shove Malfoy out, but the yelp of pain that came from the other man made Harry recoil. His breathing began to worsen again as he looked down in horror at where he’d grasped Malfoy’s arm.

It was Ginny all over again.

“I told you I’d hurt you,” he said with a frantic whimper.

Malfoy knew Harry hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the evident fear in his eyes made it clear that Harry didn’t forgive himself quite so easily. Without a word, Malfoy turned on his heel and grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut behind him.

Harry’s shoulders fell. This had been what he’d wanted, but seeing it still hurt. He didn’t get to wallow for long.

“There, I’m out,” Malfoy said through the door. “I’m not going anywhere, though.”

A breath shook out of Harry’s chest. Leave it to Malfoy to be this stubborn. He shouldn’t care about Harry. He had already hurt him. Why was he wasting his time?

Harry pressed his forehead against the door, almost precisely where Malfoy did the same on the other side. “I’m not going anywhere,” Malfoy repeated, his voice softening.

Harry attempted to tell him to go away again, but only a strangled whimper escaped.

“Potter,” Malfoy urged, his voice just barely audible through the solid wood. “You’re safe. You’re at Grimmauld. Nothing can hurt you here.”

Another shaky intake of air could be heard on the other side of the door.

“Did something happen at work today?” Malfoy asked, hoping to find some sort of source for this behavior.

“It’s the end of March,” Harry croaked. Malfoy frowned. He couldn’t see the connection to anything that happened during the war or prior. “Dobby died today,” Harry clarified.

“Oh.” A pang of guilt surfaced in Malfoy’s chest. Dobby had been his house-elf. He should be the one to remember the date of his death. He never liked getting close to the elves though, it made it too hard to watch his father push them around.

After another choked sound, Harry spoke again. “I started remembering all of them.” He clamped his eyes shut as several deaths flashed before his eyelids ― Sirius falling into the veil, Snape bleeding out, even Pettigrew clamping his silver hand around his throat. “They all died to protect me. Why did they do that?” The sound of a woman screaming made him slump against the doorframe. “I’m not worth it. There’s nothing special about me.”

Harry trembled as his mind recalled the countless times that his aunt and uncle had said those very words to him. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t different. He was just Harry Potter.

A hard smack against the door made Harry jump, pulling his head away. “Don’t make me come in there,” Malfoy snapped. “You’re Saint Potter. You’re the youngest Seeker in a century. You won the Triwizard Tournament at fourteen. You beat me at almost everything in school. You’re special, and you don’t need a damn prophecy to tell you that, and you’re allowed to think that. You’re allowed to like yourself. It’s not selfish. It’s not narcissistic. It’s knowing your worth a shit and not letting anyone else tell you differently.

“And yes, a lot of people died, but a lot more would have died if you hadn’t been there.” Malfoy took a long intake of breath. He shifted his weight, putting his head back against the door as his eyes fell shut. “I would have died…”

A heavy silence hung off the end of his words. Sometimes Malfoy still woke up feeling the heat of the Room of Requirement blistering his skin, Crabbe’s expression burned into his eyelids as the pit swallowed him whole. Sometimes he found himself jealous of him. If he had been the one to slip, all his worries could have vanished.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, and he glared at the dark wood grain. “You saved my life, you bastard, then you saved me from Azkaban,” he spat like Harry had done something insulting. “So don’t think for one second I’m going to stand around and let you wallow in self-hatred!”

There was no response. There wasn’t even another shaky breath. Malfoy was considering just opening the door when he felt it begin to move. He stumbled back.

The door opened. Harry stood there with a strained expression. His breathing was still uneven, but he looked calmer than before.

Malfoy began to reach out but stopped just short of Harry’s arm, looking up to the other man’s face. “Can I?”

Harry swallowed hard, and it looked like he was going to say no, but he eventually nodded.

Taking the chance given, Malfoy placed his hand on Harry’s bicep and began to rub up and down his arm in a soothing motion, ending it with a small squeeze on his shoulder. Harry didn’t move away. His eyes remained forward, looking somewhere past Malfoy, his bottom lip trembling slightly. Malfoy brought his other hand up to copy the motion on the other side. Harry began to lean into his touch, his breath slowly smoothing out.

Seeing that he needed it but didn’t want to ask, Malfoy wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. Harry began to soften. His fingers twisted into Malfoy’s shirt at his waist. His face resting on Malfoy’s shoulder

Malfoy could still feel him trying to hold back. He gave a tight squeeze and mumbled into Harry’s ear, “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

One last shaky breath fell from Harry’s lips, and he wrapped his arms securely around Malfoy’s waist, burying his damp face into the crook of Malfoy’s neck.

There was no telling how long they stood there like that. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. Neither knew, and neither cared.

It was only when Kreacher interrupted asking if they were having dinner at Grimmauld that they broke apart ― though only to arm’s length.

“Yes,” Malfoy answered for them. When Harry looked at him quizzically, Malfoy patted at Harry’s Auror robes and said, “You’re in no shape to get dinner, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

A lopsided smile formed on Harry’s face that didn’t quite fit his bloodshot eyes and tearstained face. “Does that mean you’re going to take a shower with me as well?” Harry was lightheaded from crying, and his thoughts were so distant that he barely registered what he had said.

Malfoy’s face flushed reader than a Weasley’s child’s head. “I- I think you can handle that on your own.”

Harry chuckled but nodded. “Probably.”

Harry finally stepped away and went back to his bedroom to get clothes. “I’ll be downstairs,” Malfoy said, still mildly stumbling over his words.

Harry grunted a response, and Malfoy started down the stairs before he could get surprised by another one of Potter’s off-kilter comments.

He was headed down to the kitchen, but his eyes caught sight of a room on the first floor. He edged nearer, slowly pushing the door aside. This room looked most like it would belong to someone in his family. It was well past its prime, but there was lingering proof that it was once exquisite, with large windows overlooking the street and a grand fireplace flanked by two ornate glass-fronted cabinets.

He slowly entered the room. His gaze was darting across all of the Doxy eaten furniture when it finally landed at the true focal piece of the room. It was a large, ancient tapestry. It looked well-worn, but the original splendor shined through, the gold thread which embroidered it still glittering brightly even in the dull light, connecting the sprawling family tree. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black ‘Toujours Pur.’

Malfoy’s eyes stopped near the bottom, finding a generic blond face with his name below. He brushed his fingers over the image. So he really was considered a Black. He began to look around, curious if Harry was somewhere on the massive tree. There was a Potter a few generations back, but they didn’t appear to be a direct line to Harry.

Either Malfoy had been standing there a lot longer than he thought, or Harry had taken an extra speedy shower. Whichever it was, Malfoy still jumped when he heard Harry’s voice. “Oh, there you are.”

Malfoy spun around, suddenly feeling guilty for snooping around Harry’s house. His moment of anxiety faded when he saw the other man, who now looked more like himself in muggle clothes with a damp head. Harry stepped into the room, looking back at the tapestry. “Did you find yourself?”

“Yeah,” Malfoy turned slowly back to the wall as Harry joined his side. “I never knew this was here. I knew my mother was a Black, but I never really thought about how I was connected to all of these people.” Malfoy recognized many of the names from various places – history, art, politics – and he was one of them.

His eyes went back down to his own portrait, starting to trace up from his own gold thread. He didn’t get far, his gaze catching the dark spot between his mother and Bellatrix. Malfoy knew whose face was supposed to be there without reading the name below it.

He followed it down to another generic face, but this one had magenta hair, and the one below it had blue. The name under the blue-headed face read: Edward Lupin.

Malfoy pointed up Andromeda’s blotched portrait. “What happened to hers?”

“She married a muggle-born,” Harry answered. “Walburga Black didn’t like it when people disobeyed the family ideals.” He gestured to another splotch with the name Sirius underneath. “She did the same to my godfather after he left the family.” He pointed at another a little further up. “And his uncle for helping him.”

Malfoy sighed, brushing his fingers over the spot where his aunt’s picture had once been. “My mother’s family wasn’t so happy about it either. She’s been trying to mend their relationship for some time. Andromeda is the only family she has left now ― besides me.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “I know.” When Malfoy quirked a brow, Harry explained, “Andy ― Andromeda ― told me about it once when I was visiting Teddy.” He gestured to the blue-haired child. When it became apparent this only gave Malfoy more questions, Harry went on, “He’s my godson. Tonks and, er-” he had to clear his throat, blinking rapidly at the man’s face beside Nymphadora Tonks, “Remus, they made me his godfather the night he was born.”

Malfoy looked back down at the uniquely shaded family. “Is he…” He wasn’t sure how to ask this delicately, but Voldemort’s taunts of babysitting the ‘cubs’ echoed in his head. “Is he, er, like his father?”

“A werewolf?” Harry asked. Malfoy swallowed hard, refusing to look at Harry as he nodded. “No, he takes more after his mother.” A crooked smile began to grow on his lips. “She was a metamorphmagus. This picture doesn’t do him justice; his hair is a constant rainbow.”

“Metamorphmagus, really?” Malfoy exclaimed. “Those are so rare! I’ve never met one in real life. I always assumed it was a myth. That there were some witches and wizards who were really good at Polyjuice potions.”

Harry’s smile broke into a proud grin as he nodded. “Yeah, they’re real, and he’s definitely rare. You should meet him one day. His birthday is coming up soon.”

Malfoy shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself in a self-hug. “Andromeda doesn’t even want to see her own sister in person. I don’t think she’d be too happy to see me.”

“I can ask-”

Malfoy began to shake his head harder. “No, no. I don’t want to put her in that position. It’s better that we don’t have any contact.”

Harry stared at Malfoy. He knew what it was like to not want anything to do with part of his family, but not like this, not because he blamed himself for any of their misfortune.

Just as Harry was trying to figure out something to say, Kreacher once again demonstrated his excellent timing. “Dinner is ready, Sirs.”

“We’ll be right down, thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said. The elf bowed his head and disappeared back down the hall. Harry turned back to Malfoy, his distant eyes returning to the present. “Ready?”

Malfoy nodded silently.

Before taking a step, Harry found himself suddenly feeling the urge to touch Malfoy in some way. Like he was supposed to lead him or hold his hand or something.

Maybe his brain still hadn’t caught up after his panic attack. Or perhaps he hadn’t been completely done with that hug earlier. Either way, he stuffed his hands into his pockets to occupy them and started down the stairs.

Kreacher had outdone himself with several options, including stew, some sort of pasta dish, and a full ham. Harry was really stifling his abilities by never eating at the house anymore. The pair sat together at the end of the long table, filling their plates and chatting like they usually did.

There was no natural light coming into the basement kitchen, so time ticked by quickly without notice. It was nearly ten when Harry finally took note of the clock. “I suppose you’ll want to be going home soon,” he sighed, his eyes falling to their empty plates.

Malfoy pursed his lips as he gave a jab to his napkin. “Or I could stay,” he looked up at Harry, “or you could come back with me.”

Harry sat up. “It’s fairly late. I won’t be able to stay long.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You are so dense sometimes,” he muttered. “I meant to spend the night. I’ve told you, you’re welcome to do so.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I’ve bothered you enough today.”

He started to stand up, trying to busy himself by taking their plates to the sink to help Kreacher. He barely got an inch out of his chair, Malfoy grabbing his sleeve. “You aren’t a bother, Potter,” he urged, his face solemn. “It would be a bother if you made me go home and come back to get my things because I meant what I said earlier; I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry insisted. “It’s passed. It won’t happen again tonight.”

Malfoy released Harry’s arm only to lean back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other as he folded his arms and stared Harry down. “And you expect me to believe you don’t have nightmares.” Harry’s eyes widened. He swore he never told him that. “I’ve been through it too,” Malfoy pressed. “I know what it’s like. You can’t fool me.”

“I don’t want to take up room-”

Malfoy uncrossed his body, smacking the table as he got to his feet. “Well then, Kreacher,” he said loudly, “take me home. I need to get some clothes.”

The elf came trotting into the room. “Wait, wait, no,” Harry urged, waving his hands at both Malfoy and Kreacher. “Fine, I’ll come. I just need my uniform for tomorrow.”

A smug smirk spread across Malfoy’s lips, and he settled back into the chair, resuming his prim posture. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Harry sighed and finally stood up. Malfoy really was a handful. “Bossy git,” he muttered as he stalked towards the door.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Oh, how dare I worry about you? What a terrible person I am.” He looked back at Harry with a mistrustful glare. “Don’t take too long. I’ll come drag you out if I have to.”

Harry let out an exaggerated groan, dragging his feet towards the door. It was clearly a sarcastic gesture and one that made Malfoy chuckle.

In all truth, Harry would much rather go to Malfoy’s than spend the night at Grimmauld. He would always prefer to do that if he didn’t feel like such an imposition when he did. Still, it was nice to hear Malfoy be so adamant about it. He must really care if he was volunteering to stay at the musty old house Harry grudgingly owned.

With his uniform and his toothbrush in hand, Harry met Malfoy back down in the kitchen then apparated them to Malfoy’s flat. Harry never felt so relieved to see such bland surroundings.

He stuck his clothes in his drawer, put his toothbrush in the cup with Malfoy’s, and went out to the living room. Malfoy had added a pillow from his own bed along with a spare duvet. “I guess that’s it,” Malfoy said, brushing his hands together as he looked down at his work. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

Before Malfoy could get to his bedroom door, Harry spoke up, “It’s not that late. We can find a show.”

Malfoy could feel the urge to smile but tried to fight it to keep a cool expression instead. He nodded, adding a small shrug. “If you want to.”

Moving with more enthusiasm than his ‘cool’ expression attempted to present, he plopped down on his usual end of the sofa. Harry found his own, trying to keep his own smile to a minimum as he picked up the remote.

It had been a long day. Panic attacks definitely took a lot of energy out of a person. It was a wonder Harry had lasted as long as he had, but he soon felt drowsiness beginning to take over.

They got through one and a half episodes before Malfoy looked over at Harry to see his eyes drooping. He stood up. Harry’s eyes shoot open at the movement. “It’s okay,” Malfoy cooed. “Go to sleep.”

Harry grumbled something incoherent but tugged at the duvet, pulling it up to his shoulder.

Malfoy took the remote from Harry’s limp hand and turned off the television. Harry was slowly sunk down onto the sofa, his head finding the pillow Malfoy had brought out. His nose crinkled as his glasses became askew, the plastic uncomfortable on his face. He reached up and took them off, but Malfoy took them from his hand before he dropped them on the floor. “Goodnight, Potter,” Malfoy said through a soft chuckle, folding the glasses on the coffee table.

Harry responded with something that sounded somewhat like a goodnight as well. Pleased with this response, Malfoy began to leave. “Thank you, ‘Foy.”

Malfoy froze at the sound before slowly turning back. For a second, he doubted he’d even heard anything. Harry looked too far into sleep, already to coherently form words.

The thought that he had spoken was enough to send a warm feeling throughout Malfoy’s body. He didn’t try to fight his smile now. “You too, Potter.”


	8. Happy

Upon Malfoy’s request, Harry spent the next night at his flat as well. By the third night, he attempted to go back to Grimmauld but ended up at Malfoy’s door in the middle of the night after a particularly nasty nightmare. However, by the fourth night, he was beginning to feel like he was taking up more than a little bit of space.

At this point, Harry had taken over a whole drawer of Malfoy’s dresser and a portion of his wardrobe for Harry’s Auror uniform. He also had several toiletries littering the bathroom, none put away properly as if he would leave at any second. And the living room was a disaster, Harry’s tossing and turning kicking almost all of the pillows onto the ground every morning and the fluffy duvet which was usually folded poorly onto the armchair.

Harry told himself it would be the last night. He’d have to go back to the house after that. He survived there for three years; he could manage to keep going.

It wasn’t just the better sleeping that was hard to give up, though. He also liked waking up to Malfoy making them tea on the weekdays, or Harry spending the time on the weekend to make them breakfast, or watching the news together as a learning source to teach Malfoy about muggles. Above all, he would miss just having someone he always knew was around ― someone to come home to and who could easily distract him from his workday.

With all of this going through his head, it made it hard to actually sleep that night. He woke up almost every hour, groaning as he checked the clock.

It was around three in the morning when it was his bladder that woke him up this time. He hated having to walk through Malfoy’s room to use the toilet. He was always afraid he was going to wake him up. Nevertheless, it was already hard enough to sleep with his mind pestering him; he had no hope with his body nagging him with needs too.

He tiptoed into the room, not closing the door to refrain from making any more sound. He moved quickly and silently to the other door across the room, not turning on the light until he had the door closed behind him.

He was in there only for a minute before washing up and heading back out. His heart sunk when he heard a grumble from the bed. He had tried so hard to be quiet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

The grumble turned into a whimper. Harry blinked through the darkness, trying to adjust his eyes to the lack of light. He could see the outline of Malfoy’s body under the covers and how badly it trembled. Harry took a step closer and could suddenly hear Malfoy’s shaky breath, occasionally interrupted by more groans and whimpers.

Harry finally got to the bed and began to gently prod Malfoy’s shoulder. It only made his breath quicken as he cringed away. “Hey, Malfoy. Malfoy, wake up.” He gradually began to shake him harder. “Draco, it’s just a bad dream. Wake up.”

Malfoy’s eyes shot open. He wriggled out of Harry’s grip, shoving himself to the other side of the bed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he croaked.

“Hey, no, Draco, it’s me, Harry,” he urged, holding up his palms in defense.

Draco stared at him for a long moment, his brain trying to catch up. When it finally clicked, his whole body began to tremble again. He slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his sobs. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again. “They’re all dead because of me.”

A cold chill ran down Harry’s spine. Such a proclamation several weeks ago would have sent Harry into a rage, but it only made him feel more concerned now. “What? No, come here.” He knelt onto the bed, holding out an open arm. “I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault.”

Malfoy was still holding his face, tears streaming down over his cheeks and hand as he violently shook his head side-to-side.

Harry reached forward, and Malfoy flinched away. Harry instantly stopped, beginning to pull back. “Wait,” Draco whimpered. His eyes were looking down at the hand Harry had just offered.

Harry held it out again, searching Malfoy’s face for any resistance. When he saw none, he gently touched his arm. Unlike Harry, Malfoy didn’t try to hold back. He melted under Harry’s reassuring touch and threw himself forward into the other man’s arms. Harry held onto him as tightly as possible, cooing reassurance into his ear as he slowly rocked them.

“Please stay,” Malfoy simpered into the crook of his neck when he began to calm down.

Harry held him tighter, if possible, resting his chin on the top of Draco’s head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And suddenly, going back to Grimmauld was out of the question.

He did return to the house but only during the day to collect post and check on Kreacher. Afterward, he’d go to the flat and, as usual, they’d have dinner, then he’d sleep on the sofa ― or in the bed when either of them was having a particularly bad night.

Every bad night wasn’t just crying and holding one another. It wasn’t always nightmares that woke them up, after all. Both of them just generally had trouble falling asleep, so they’d sit up in the bed and talk until the early hours of the morning, unintentionally sharing the bed.

Of course, Draco was used to hugging a pillow, so it wasn’t unusual for them to wake up intertwined. He always apologized in the morning, and Harry would make a quip about him being clingy, but it wasn’t all that bad, Harry thought. He actually quite liked how it felt to have Draco pushed up against him when he woke up, to know he wasn’t alone.

_Draco_. When did he start calling him that? The thought crossed Harry’s mind as he sorted his things to get ready to leave work.

“Ouch, that bruise isn’t looking so good,” voiced Ron, eyeing the purpling spot on Harry’s cheek. “Carson got you good, mate. You sure you don’t want to go to the infirmary?”

Harry shook his head, not even minding the swelling of his face. He’d gotten worse. “It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal on its own.” He grabbed up his bag of files, throwing it on his shoulder. “See you later.”

“Wait, Harry!”

Harry paused. He looked back at his friend, who was giving a half-hearted smile. “I came by your place the other day. I figured we’d hang out for a bit, it’s been ages, but you weren’t home.”

Guilt’s slimy hand ran down Harry’s back, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “Yeah, you know I try to spend as little time around there as I can. I was probably just at the pub. We’ll definitely hang out sometime soon, though.”

Once more, Harry tried to get away, and, once more, Ron spoke up. “Right, right. The thing is, I talked to Kreacher,” Harry stopped dead in his tracks, “he said you haven’t been home in days.”

He had to think quickly. While it was nothing that should really concern Ron, Harry knew how his best mate would react to finding out that he was spending nights at Draco Malfoy’s house.

He spun back around, a forceful smile on his mouth, which appeared more like a grimace. “You know I hate that place. I’ve always spent as little time as I can there. I’ve just been trying to find things to distract me. Walks, eating out, that’s all.”

Ron nodded though he was clearly not convinced. “Well, it’s good that the party’s this weekend then. You’ll have a good excuse not to be there.”

Harry frowned. “Party?”

Ron raised a brow. “Yeah, the one for your godson,” Ron prodded, “at Andy’s? You are the one who volunteered Hermione and me to bring the cake. Which was a horrible idea, by the way, you know neither of us can bake.”

“Right, right,” Harry shook his head, trying to clear his panicking mind. “Of course, yeah. I didn’t forget. I’ll be there.”

Harry didn’t let the conversation go much further, giving his friend a farewell before Flooing to Grimmauld to get his post.

When Harry got to the flat, he was still thinking about his talk with Ron. As shocking as Harry and Draco’s friendship would be to his other friends, he would eventually have to tell them. If Ron kept showing up at his house, he might accidentally figure it out on his own – he had ordered Kreacher not to mention Draco to them, but there was no telling how long that would be enough.

Maybe he should just invite Draco to the party. It would be a nice setting, and it would only be Teddy, Andromeda, Ron, and Hermione. If he did, he should probably give them some sort of warning. What if that gave them the wrong idea, though, like he was bringing over a new girlfriend? Draco wasn’t his girlfriend. They were just friends who ate dinner together, and watched telly, and slept over occasionally ― or every night, in the same bed. Harry hadn’t even been that close with Ginny…

Harry flinched at the thought, shaking his head. What was he thinking?

“Everything okay?” Draco’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’ve been quiet all evening.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Harry nodded. “Just a long day at work.”

Draco gave a short snort. “Yeah, I know, or I wouldn’t have had to heal you again. Honestly, do you know how to not get punched?”

“I learned it from you,” Harry teased, sending him a mischievous smirk.

Draco scoffed. “If you’re referring to Granger our third-year, then I’ll have you remember that she slapped me, not punched. And, honestly, if those are the habits of mine you’re picking up, then you should probably stop being an Auror. People will think you’re batting for the other team.”

The words hit Harry like another punch in the face, making it difficult to chew his food properly. He choked violently, knuckling his chest. Draco watched him with wild concern, quickly shoving his glass of water closer. Harry took a large gulp, holding up a finger to silence Draco before he started to speak again.

He pulled the cup from his mouth and shook his head as he waited for his voice to come back. “That’s not- That’s not when you use that phrase,” he urged. Draco had been trying to use more muggle sayings, but the problem was that he got most of them from Will & Grace, which made him constantly spew out gay innuendos without realizing it.

Draco tilted his head, his frown looking more like a small pout. He seemed so innocent. It made it even harder for Harry to look at him, especially with his words still swimming in Harry’s head.

Harry shooed the topic away as he took another sip from his cup. “Actually,” he was at least going to have to tell him where he would be all day Saturday, “I was reminded that Teddy’s birthday is this weekend.”

“Oh?” The crease in Draco’s brow became deeper. “Why is that upsetting?”

Harry shrugged and began to push around the pasta on his plate. “It’s not. I just won’t be here most of Saturday.”

There was another sharp scoff from the other man that made Harry look up. “You know, just because I admitted to liking having you here doesn’t mean I can’t live without you. You’re only really here during the evenings after all.”

“I know!” Harry insisted. “I can live without you, too. I just…” He trailed off, not sure where he was going with this.

“Don’t want to?” Draco asked, his smile nearly audible. “I understand. I’m quite fantastic, aren’t I?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were pulling up as well. “Fantastically narcissistic.”

“Don’t act like you don’t absolutely love it.”

Harry shook his head. He began to eat again, hoping it would wipe the smile off his face, but it didn’t go anywhere. It rarely did anymore.

Saturday seemed to come quicker than usual, at least that’s what Harry thought. They went down to the English Rose Café for breakfast, as was becoming a habit, then hung around the flat until a little bit after noon. Harry would have to take the Floo to Andromeda’s, so he would have to go back to Grimmauld. With a goodbye and a few sarcastic retorts, Harry left the flat and started his journey.

“Oh, Harry, perfect timing,” Andromeda’s voice rang before Harry had even gotten all of the soot off of his face. “Ron and Hermione just got here. They’re in the kitchen setting up the cake.”

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and held out his gift. “What about Teddy?”

She took the box and put it aside on a table with a pile of others that Harry assumed had been sent through the post. “Charlie’s playing with him outside,” she answered.

Both of them now with free hands, Andromeda pulled him into a quick squeeze that Harry barely returned, his head still reeling. “Charlie? I thought it was just going to be the five of us.”

Andromeda waved an absent hand. “Oh, you know the Weasleys love a party. Most of the order is here as well.” Suddenly, Harry was very happy that he hadn’t decided to invite Draco.

“Is that Harry?” a familiar, muffled voice came from the other room. Soon, two heads were popping through the doorway. “Harry!” Thankfully, Harry knew that bushy hair without having to look at her face, not getting the chance before she threw her arms around him. “I feel like it’s been so long!”

Harry chuckled as he hugged her back. “The good thing is, I don’t change much.”

She pulled back to arm’s length, raising a brow. “Really? That’s not what Ron’s said.”

Harry gave Ron a quizzical look, but he didn’t get to ask any questions. “Harry!” Harry spun around just in time to see the red-headed child running at him before launching himself into Harry’s arms.

“Hey, buddy,” Harry greeted, resting the three-year-old on his hip. He was exponentially grateful for Auror training. One or two more birthdays and picking up this child like this was going to become exponentially harder.

Harry tasseled the child’s hair. “Trying to be a Weasley, I see.”

“Obviously, he knows who the coolest people are,” said a new voice. Harry looked up at the open door to see Bill walking in. He paused when he saw Andromeda. “I was sent to ask if you had any extra nappies. Apparently, I didn’t pack enough.”

Andromeda laughed at the long sigh that left the man’s lips. “Yes, I have a few upstairs. I’ll show you.”

“You brought Victoire, too?” Harry asked.

Bill nodded, pointing at the door, as he followed Andromeda up the stairs. “Yeah, she’s outside with Fleur.” Teddy was no longer the only baby of the family after last year when Bill and Fleur gave birth to a daughter on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts of all days.

Little Victoire was the Weasley family’s pride and joy and probably the greatest inspiration for George to get out of his slump; he loved making her laugh. Harry couldn’t imagine if he brought Draco around the same house as her. He’d likely have to explain to Narcissa Malfoy why her son was dead.

“Come on, everyone’s been waiting for you,” Hermione urged, pulling Harry towards the door.

“Yeah, mate, where’ve you been?” asked Ron. “The party started at one.”

Harry thought back to only a few minutes before when he’d been too distracted by playing wizard’s chess with Draco to notice the time ― he’d bought the board when getting some potion ingredients for Draco a few days ago. “Sorry, I didn’t notice the time.”

As Andromeda had said, the whole Weasley clan was there, even Percy. The one who wasn’t present was Ginny ― thankfully though not surprisingly. Harry was pretty sure he had heard that the Harpies had a game this weekend. A few former Order members like Hestia Jones, Neville, Dean, and Seamus, even Angelina Johnson, were also there.

Within an hour, Harry realized just how much he’d missed in the last month and a half. He’d been aware that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was up and running again; he’d seen it on his first trip to Diagon Alley to get things for Draco. He had yet to hear the story of how George and Angelina had caught up or how she was now helping out at the store. Percy was also subject to several teasing remarks about some girl named Audrey.

Harry also nearly fell off his chair when he saw Dean peck Seamus’s cheek before going to the bathroom. He was the only one to have this reaction, apparently. He sent Hermione a wild look that took her a moment to understand. “They started dating a month ago,” she said quietly. “They told us at Ron’s birthday party.”

Harry frowned. “I was at Ron’s party.”

She nodded, her eyes falling down to the cup in her hand. “You weren’t exactly sober, though, were you?”

Harry’s shoulders fell. That was a good point. While he remembered arriving at the dinner, he had almost no recollection of leaving. He couldn’t help it; Ginny had been there.

“You look better now, though,” Hermione urged. She looked him up and down, even glancing down at the clear contents of his cup. “You actually look a lot better. I was getting worried when Ron said you kept turning him down to hang out. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been finding other ways to distract myself. I’ve mostly been exploring muggle London.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He and Draco did a lot of exploring, although it usually remained in a three-block radius of the flat.

“Oh, that’s excellent,” Hermione gushed. “I saw some advertisements for a new exhibit at the Natural History Museum. We should all go sometime.” She dropped her voice and leaned closer. “Ron could do with some culture. He thinks all muggles are like the ones from that office show he likes.”

“The Office?” Harry asked.

Her face fell. “You’ve seen it? Please don’t tell me that’s the muggle culture you’re talking about.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head. “Only an episode or two, D-” Harry barely managed to stop himself from saying Draco’s name. “Er, it wasn’t my taste.” In actuality, Harry had found it entertaining, but Draco didn’t understand the humor, so they had kept looking.

Harry refocused on the original topic when Dean returned and interlaced his fingers with Seamus’s. He dropped his voice so only Hermione could hear. “But, everyone was okay with, you know…” he nodded towards the couple.

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she examined Harry’s face. “Yeah… Why wouldn’t we be? Ron even said it’d been pretty obvious in the dorms; it’s why he didn’t like Dean with Ginny. He knew it wouldn’t work out. That’s his story, at least. You know him.”

For some reason, a sudden wave of relief rushed over Harry’s body. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t understand why he should be surprised. The Weasleys had always been accepting people. Of course, they wouldn’t care about such a thing. It still made him feel a bit lighter.

The party proceeded, and after cake ― which Molly had graciously made instead of Ron and Hermione ― and presents, the guests began to leave. Feeling bad for being late, Harry stayed back to help Andromeda clean up with Ron and Hermione.

The boys made their way to the kitchen after having brought in the table and chairs which had been lugged outside. Andromeda was spelling dishes clean while Hermione was on the ground with Teddy, who was pushing around the wooden, double-decker bus Harry had bought him during one of his shopping trips with Draco.

Andromeda looked up at the boys as they walked. “Thank you, Dears. Would you like a cuppa?”

“No, thanks,” Ron responded politely, taking a seat at the small dinette.

Andromeda looked at Harry. “How about you?”

Harry went to open his mouth, but Ron and Hermione answered for him in a chorus, “Harry doesn’t drink tea.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Andromeda muttered.

“Er,” Harry glanced at the cupboards as if he could see through the doors, “do you have oolong?”

Andromeda looked at the boy oddly, opening her mouth to instinctively deny. “Actually,” she said, turning back to the cupboards, “I do. My sister just sent me some a little while ago.” She picked up a yellow tin that Harry recognized well. “I haven’t even opened it,” she muttered more to herself.

“You’re still talking to Narcissa Malfoy?” Ron asked, wrinkling his nose.

Andromeda sighed as she began to fill up the kettle. “In all honesty, I don’t really have much to say to her. She mostly just sends me gifts in hopes that one will get my attention.” She eyed the tin. “Our mother loved Oolong. Always picked up a new batch in France from this little company.” She tapped her nails on the lid of the yellow tin beside the sink. “She liked to make it with fresh honey. All of us girls would sit around in the drawing-room with our tea and talk about our day.”

“That actually sounds sort of nice,” Hermione admitted.

Andromeda nodded, shutting off the tap and moving the kettle to the stove. “It was until we got older and those nice afternoons together became talks of arranged marriages, and our mother trying to cool Bella’s obsession with You-Know-Who. I think the last time we were all together was when Bella was throwing a cup of this tea at my head when I told them I was leaving with Edward.”

Harry watched with wary eyes as the woman stared blankly at the heating kettle. He was reluctant to speak up but felt a need to. “Andy, if you don’t want to make it then-”

She finally looked up. There was a brilliant smile on her lips that reminded Harry strangely of Malfoy. “Oh, my dear, a cuppa isn’t going to send me spiraling.” She leaned against the counter beside the oven, crossing her arms. “I’m curious though,” her dark eyes examined Harry, “where did the new interest in tea come from? I can’t imagine Kreacher being particularly insistent that you start drinking it.”

Harry shrugged. “I just tried it one day. I liked it, that’s all. Why?”

She shrugged though her lips began to curl once again. “It’s nothing. Only…” She appeared hesitant to go on, but her curiosity got the better of her. “In my experience, men don’t usually try new things unless a girl is involved. Are you seeing anyone?”

Ron sat up. “Are you?” he urged. “That would explain why you’re never around anymore. Who is it?”

“No one! I’m not,” Harry insisted, shaking his head rapidly. “I just felt a little adventurous.”

Hermione scoffed. “Harry, your type of adventurous is trying a new brand of beer, not tea.”

“Can’t a man just like a beverage without everyone drilling him about it?”

Andromeda rolled her eyes, turning back to the stove as the kettle began to whistle. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Do you have honey?”

Andromeda’s steps lapsed. She glanced up at Harry with a raised brow. Suddenly, he remembered what she had just said about her mother and felt his body go cold.

She didn’t pause for long, certainly not long enough for Ron or Hermione to notice. “Yes, certainly,” she assured, putting the kettle down to search for the sweetener.

“Can’t you just tell Narcissa to leave you alone?” Ron spoke up. “She has her family. I don’t see why she feels the need to bother you, too.”

“You don’t know what’s going on in her family. Maybe she doesn’t have everyone,” Harry spoke without consideration ― his trademark at this point.

Harry straightened up when he noticed all of the odd looks around the room. “What? I’m just saying, you don’t know. It can’t be all that easy being a social pariah, people hating you without even knowing you. If I were her, I’d be trying to reach out to people I thought I could trust too.”

A loud groan came from Ron. “Is this about Skeres? Are you still upset he got off?”

Harry knew the answer to that was yes. Draco never brought it up, so he never told him, hoping he’d forget the whole thing. He had a feeling he hadn’t but that he wasn’t surprised that Skeres hadn’t gotten a severe punishment ― more mandatory counseling, and he’d keep the tracker on his wand for a year. It was a joke.

Hermione frowned. “Skeres?” She got off the ground, dusting herself off before sitting down next to Ron. “Terry Skeres?”

Ron nodded. “We found him attacking Malfoy in his flat a while back. Harry thought he should have gotten a worse punishment, but I honestly don’t blame the bloke. His little brother died. I’d be upset too.”

“Malfoy killed him?” Hermione questioned.

“No, he didn’t,” Harry snapped harsher than he meant to, making everyone perk up. He took a long deep breath, trying to keep himself levelheaded. “It’s over. That’s all in the past. I just don’t see why we need to keep bringing all of that stuff up again. Anyways, we know who the real villain was here. I don’t see why we need to blame the Malfoys’ for their involvement. It wasn’t all them.”

“No one’s blaming them for everything, Harry,” Hermione urged. “We supported you in helping them. Narcissa helped you, and they wouldn’t have been safe in Azkaban with everyone else who had been convicted.”

Harry nodded but pressed his lips into a tight line. It was better that he just stopped talking then burry himself into a hole he couldn’t climb out of. He let them continue with the conversation by themselves, kneeling to the ground to play with Teddy.

After his cup of tea and seeing Ron and Hermione off, Harry put Teddy to bed upon the child’s request. He resumed Andromeda’s place in _Beedle the Bard_ , completing _Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump_ before putting the book down to say a final goodnight to the droopy-eyed boy.

He got up and started towards the door when he heard a faint, “Harry?”

“Yeah, buddy?” He paused at the door, turning back to look at the boy.

“Who are the Malfoys?”

Harry suddenly straightened. What kind of question was that? More importantly, what answer was he expected to give? “They’re a wizarding family, like the Weasleys.”

“Grandma knows them?”

Harry nodded. “Her sister is one of them. They don’t talk much, though.”

Teddy’s small brow furrowed, and Harry could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Are they good wizards?” Harry’s mouth fell open then closed again like he was a fish out of water. Now he really didn’t know what to say. Teddy continued, “Grandma cried when she got that tea tin. Why would good wizards make her cry?”

Harry’s shoulders fell. A long sigh left his lips and settled back onto the edge of Teddy’s bed. “I’m going to tell you something my own godfather told me. No one is really good or bad. Everyone has both light and dark inside of them. What matters is the part we choose to act on. The Malfoys made very bad choices in the past, but some are trying to fix it.” Harry bit his lip, suddenly remembering the time Draco had tried to surprise him by cooking dinner once. For someone who was good with potions, he was horrible at putting edible ingredients together. “Some of them can actually be very sweet…”

He refocused on his godson. “Actions speak louder than words. If someone does something wrong and only says sorry, then they don’t always mean it, but if they act differently and they make an effort to be a better person, then you should at least try to hear them out.”

Teddy was silent for a long moment, and Harry wondered if he had said too much for the three-year-old to understand. “Do you know a Malfoy?”

Harry couldn’t lie to his godson. “Yes.”

“Are they nice?”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” a grin spread across his lips, “he is.”

“Can I meet him? Maybe I can show grandma that they aren’t so bad, and she can stop being sad.”

Harry gave another nod, his smile stretching even further. He brushed some of Teddy’s black, messy locks from his face. “Hopefully…one day.” He stood up again. “Goodnight, Teddy.”

“G’night,” he mumbled, his eyes beginning to droop again already.

Harry went back downstairs and found Andromeda in the sitting room. She was busying herself with taking down the last few streamers that were still pinned around the room. “He’s down,” Harry told her, grabbing his jacket off the back of the sofa. “Thank you for having us over.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it was such a light action that it was hardly noticeable. She seemed distracted by something.

Deciding it wasn’t his place to ask, Harry tugged on his jacket and started towards the fireplace. Just as he was going to grab a fistful of Floo powder, she spoke up, “Harry?”

He turned back to her. “Yeah?”

She opened her mouth but paused with palpable hesitation. She pressed her lips back into a straight line, her brow creased as she looked Harry up and down. Finally, she spoke again, “Feel free to visit whenever. Teddy misses you.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll make more of an effort. Goodnight, Andy.”

“Goodnight.”

\---

Harry apparated into a dark flat and, for a moment, thought that Draco had already gone to bed. He padded down the hall and looked into the open door of the bedroom. Draco was propped up on the bed, a book in hand as he read beneath a floating orb.

All of the tension he hadn’t realized had been balling up into his shoulders suddenly fell. He toed off his shoes at the foot of the bed, then launched himself onto the empty spot. Draco didn’t even look up from his book, turning the page before speaking, “How was it?”

Harry let out a loud groan into the pillow.

Draco chuckled. “That good?”

Harry pushed himself onto his side to look up at Draco. The blond placed a placeholder between the pages before finally looking down at him to give his full attention. “It was fine, I guess,” Harry said. “I just… Everyone is so happy.” He hugged the pillow beneath him to his chest, his eyes looking unseeingly at the bathroom door. “Even George looked a lot happier. They reopened Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

“Oh, there must be some thrilled eleven-year-olds,” Draco commented.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You have no idea how huge that is. Everyone was so worried he’d never be the same after…” Harry couldn’t even say it. “Even Seamus and Dean are happy.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“They’re dating.”

“Who?”

“Each other.” Harry’s eyes flashed up to Draco, measuring his response.

Draco sat up a little straighter. He rested his book in his lap, placing his hands on top as he stared forward, suddenly appearing very ridged. “Oh.” He swallowed hard. “And how did the Weasley clan take that?”

Harry shrugged. “Apparently, they all knew already. I’m the only one who didn’t.”

Draco frowned at him. “Why didn’t they tell you?”

Harry sighed, his eyes falling back to the door. “They did. I just wasn’t listening. I was too busy getting pissed over Ginny.”

“Right…”

“I’m happy for them,” Harry urged, noting the shortness of Draco’s tone. “I’m happy for all of them. I just wish I could be that happy. I wish I wasn’t always souring the mood - grumpy old Potter sitting in the corner, dulling the party.”

A short chortle left Draco’s lips. “Oh, I’d love to see grumpy old Potter. I think he’d liven up any party of mine.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’d have a party just to make fun of me.”

“True enough, I’d still have fun, though, as long as you were there.”

Draco’s words stirred odd emotions in Harry’s stomach and made his heart stumble, but he smiled nonetheless. He could feel his face warming and began to find an excuse to leave, so Draco wouldn’t see. “It’s getting late. I’ll let you sleep.”

Harry started to push himself off the bed when his heart was thrown into overdrive. “Or you could stay.”

Harry slowly looked back at Malfoy, who had reopened his book and was staring down at the words – he couldn’t actually make himself read any of them. “You wanna talk?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “No, you can sleep here. You do almost every other night anyway. It doesn’t bother me. It’s just a suggestion,” Draco added quickly when Harry didn’t respond right away.

Harry bit his lip and tried to play off the overwhelming feeling in his gut by teasing the other man. “I thought you said you don’t want a dog in your bed.”

Draco scoffed. “Fine, keep sleeping on the sofa, then. I was only trying to be nice.”

Harry’s conversation with Teddy only a few minutes ago came back to him. He glanced at the open door, seeing the very corner of the sofa. He scrubbed the back of his hot neck. “I think I’d rather stay,” he admitted. He got to his feet. “My back has started to hurt a bit. It’s a comfortable sofa to nap on but not a great bed.”

Draco gave a stiff nod, still not taking his gaze off his book. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Harry moving around the room. He closed the door then went to the dresser, where he hesitated for a moment. He glanced back at Draco, who quickly tried to refocus on his book. It didn’t work in the slightest.

Nothing could have distracted Draco from Harry Potter suddenly stripping his shirt in front of him. “Wh-What are you doing?”

“Changing,” Harry said innocently. “I’m not wearing jeans to bed.”

“Right, but why-” Draco didn’t finish, glancing at the bathroom door. Harry looked as well. He had considered that, but it seemed silly. They were both blokes, after all.

“We used to live in dormitories. Are you saying you’ve never seen another guy change before?”

“No, I was only…” What was wrong with Draco? It really wasn’t a big deal, and yet he could hardly keep himself from staring at Harry’s shirtless chest. An intense and confusing feeling twisted in his gut. It was baffling. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right. Forget it.”

Harry couldn’t forget it, though. He didn’t know what this reaction meant, and he couldn’t stop overanalyzing it. He finished changing then crawled under the duvet with Draco.

Once they were both in bed, Draco gave a sigh and closed his book again, placing it on the bedside table. “Knox,” he mumbled, and the light above them went out. There was some shifting under the covers, and Harry couldn’t help but be very overly aware of where both of their bodies were in the bed.

“Goodnight,” Malfoy voiced in the dark.

Harry licked his drying lips. “Goodnight.”

There was more shifting, and Harry got the feeling Draco was looking at him. “Harry?”

Harry looked over his shoulder to see that Draco had, in fact, turned over to face him. “Hm?” he mumbled, turning over as well.

“Are you…are you happy here?”

Harry suddenly wished Draco hadn’t turned the light out yet. The only thing he could see was the man’s faint outline from the alarm clock light on the bedside table. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t, though. It helped him speak the truth. “Yeah, I am.”

There was a moment of silence, and Harry wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

“If it’s any consolation, you being here makes me happy too.”

Harry’s heart was pounding through his chest. A warm feeling spread over his whole body, but all he could do to show it was smile. “Yeah, yeah, that helps a lot.”

There was more silence, but Harry imagined Draco was smiling as much as he was.

Harry felt the mattress move again before he felt a leg rub against his own. He didn’t move away from it. If anything, he moved a little closer as well until he could almost feel Draco’s breath on his face. There was no other conscious movement or words after that. They both closed their eyes and let sleep take over quicker and more peacefully than it ever had before.


	9. Bad Snogger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Far from home  
> With these aching bones  
> Are you just out of love?  
> We can turn it into gold dust  
> ― BANNERS "Gold Dust"

Harry didn't sleep on the sofa again. For the following weeks, they shared the bed and the bathroom and the wardrobe and everything. The nightmares didn't cease, but they were manageable now, both of them comforted with the knowledge that someone was just an arm's length away who could help them through it.

About the only source of conflict between them was Harry's job. Draco was getting sick of healing Harry almost every day. He doubted if any of the other Aurors came home with as many cuts and bruises as Harry did. Leave it up to the savior of the wizarding world to not know when to exercises some sort of precaution. He honestly had no self-preservation skills whatsoever.

It didn't help when Harry would just shrug it off either, refusing to even consult a certified healer. He said Draco was better at it anyway. While flattering, it didn't make Draco like it any better.

Another part of the job that made Draco absolutely crazy was how often Harry was working out. He hadn't noticed it before, but as Harry got more and more comfortable, he slowly drove Draco more and more insane. Really, the number of dishes he had nearly broken after looking over to see Harry doing pushups on the ground was indeed troubling. He was lucky he hadn't been holding anything on a particularly warm day when Harry took to walking around and working out shirtless. This Auror job was going to be the death of either Harry or Draco, and it was honestly a toss-up as to who it would be first.

There were some nice things, of course. Saturday mornings at the English Rose Café were always pleasant. The same barista was always there and had taken to getting their usual orders of coffee and muffins prepared the moment they hit the door.

"You look happy today," Harry commented when she brought over their order. She'd had a permanent grin plastered on her face since they'd come in.

"Oh! I, er," she giggled gleefully, "I just found out I got accepted into the medical program at Queen Mary's."

"Good for you," Harry praised though he wasn't entirely sure what that was, likely a university. He was aware getting into medical programs was hard. "Er…" He felt a little odd congratulating her, considering he didn't even know her name.

"Heather," she said, noticing him looking for a nametag. "My name's Heather."

She offered her hand, which he shook. "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry." After introducing himself, Harry gestured to Draco, "And that's Dra…ay?" He barely stopped himself, his eyes going wide as a realization occurred.

"Dray?" Heather chirped, turning to the blond man. "That's a unique name."

Draco was maintaining a narrow-eyed glare on Harry as he grumbled, "Yeah, because it's not my name."

A crease formed on Heather's brow as she glanced back at Harry. "Well, yeah, that's just what I call you," he lied poorly. "It's short for, er, Drake."

Heather accepted this name a little more readily though her smile faulted upon looking at Draco again. Harry could imagine what she was thinking. He didn't look like a Drake.

"Well, nice to meet you both, Harry, Drake. And thank you," she added to Harry. "Enjoy your coffee."

They both watched her return to the counter. Once she was out of hearing range, Draco leaned over the table to whisper haughtily, "Why'd you say that?"

Harry lowed his own voice giving a small shrug. "Draco isn't really a muggle name."

"I'm named after the star constellation," he urged. "You're not telling me muggles don't know basic constellations."

"No, they do, but no one really uses them as names."

"And Dray is a normal name?"

"I panicked, okay? You can pick out your own name later."

Draco crossed his arms with a firm pout forming on his lips. "Well, we can't come back here again, then."

"Why not? You love it here," Harry questioned. "There's almost no one here Saturday mornings."

"I'm not letting you call me Drake?"

"What about Dray?" Harry questioned. Draco glared at him out of the corner of his eye. It only made Harry smile. He leaned forward on his elbows. "Come on, _Dray_." Harry noticed the way Draco's lip twitched as he forcefully tried to remain upset. "Dray? Come on, you like it. I can tell."

"You're truly insufferable."

"And yet you're still here," Harry teased.

"Which really makes me question my taste," Draco grumbled. He let out a long, heavy sigh, and Harry smiled along, but he could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. He tried to tell himself not to overanalyze anything.

After breakfast, they went back to the flat and settled together on the sofa to flick through several weekend programs. Draco was pressed into his usual corner with his legs up on the sofa, his feet, which had been under the blanket, had migrated at some point to be tucked beneath Harry for warmth.

Harry was considering getting up to search through their movie rentals for something they hadn't watched yet when Draco spoke up. "I think I need a haircut." Harry looked over to see the other man twiddling with the ends of his shoulder-length tresses.

"Why? I thought you liked it." It was getting a little long but seeing Draco concentrated on a potion with his hair tied back at the nape of his neck held a certain appeal for Harry.

Draco continued to examine the pinch of white-blond strands between his fingers. "I'm starting to look like my father."

All of Harry's mild disdain faded. He straightened up, giving Draco a more scrupulous examination. He could see where Draco might think that. If he let his hair get much longer, he might even believe it was true – not that Lucius Malfoy could ever have eyes that were quite as light or cheekbones that were as defined as his son's. Harry gave a nod. "We can look for a barber around here. I could probably use a trim too."

Draco finally snapped his gaze up. "Oh, come now, you can't cut the iconic Potter bird's nest. That would be sacrilege."

Harry snorted. "Trust me; a little trim isn't going to calm it. It's been attempted. My aunt once shaved it all off and left the fringe to cover my scar."

Draco slapped a hand over his mouth to cover the unmistakable smile spreading across his face. "That's horrible."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're hoping I have a picture, aren't you," he accused.

Draco perked up. "Do you?"

"Nope, I was never part of family portraits, thank God."

Draco frowned, his hand moving slowly from his face. "Are you saying there are no baby pictures of you?"

Harry shrugged. "A few that my mum and dad took but after," he skipped over saying what happened to them, Draco knew, and he didn't want to sour the mood, "no, not really."

Draco perused his lips and sat silently in deep thought for a moment. "You should get a camera the next time you go to Diagon Alley."

"What? Why?"

"Well, it's not fair, is it? You don't have any embarrassing baby photos in the bath or stupid clothes your parents put you in."

Harry's brows raised into his fringe. "Are you going to take pictures of me in the bath?"

Pink began to blossom across Draco's face, and though Harry laughed, he could feel his own face heat slightly. "No!" Draco snapped. "But I'm sure I can find plenty of other embarrassing angles."

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry fervently shook his hand in the air. "Does this mean there are photos like that of you?"

The blush on Draco's cheeks became even redder as his eyes widened to the size of bludgers. "What? No! Of course not, those were just examples."

A slow, predatory smile stretched across Harry's lips as he raised his brows in challenge. "Oh, I really need to speak to Narcissa."

Panic spread across Draco's face. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do! I'm sure she can tell me all sorts of things."

"Nothing embarrassing. I was a perfect child," Draco stated matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

Harry burst out into unadulterated laughter, irking Draco even further. He watched in fixed frustration as Harry clutched his stomach. His laughter died down when he looked over at Draco, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw. He attempted to swallow his laughter as he spoke, "I suppose you don't consider crying about a 'chicken' attacking you to be embarrassing."

Draco's eyes flared, but the redness of his cheeks began to spread to his ears and neck. "If you're referring to that ruddy hippogriff, you know full well that it could have killed me."

"It was a scratch."

"There was blood everywhere!"

"Because you wouldn't stop flailing around," Harry exclaimed. "Or when you missed the snitch because you were too busy mocking me. Or when Moody turned you into a ferret because you were being a prat. I wouldn't call any of those perfect moments." Harry's smile grew with each example he gave, remembering each event with fondness not unlike some evenings he'd spent with Ron recounting the same times as they both nearly keeled over laughing.

However, when he finally settled a little and looked over at Draco, he didn't find him laughing like Ron would have been. His eyes were glued to the coffee table, distant and unseeing. His features had fallen. Suddenly, he realized that bringing up Draco's top embarrassing moments probably wouldn't go over well.

"Hey," Harry placed a hand on Draco's knee, getting his attention back, "I'm only messing around," he assured. "I never looked down on you for any of that stuff. If anything, I was sort of jealous. You took it in strides. People said a few bad things about me, and I just…" Harry trailed off, remembering several instances where it seemed everyone had turned on him, such as when they thought he was the heir of Slytherin or that he had put his own name in the Goblet of Fire.

"You were always so confident," Harry said. "You were never afraid to be yourself. And it aggravated me sometimes, but I also really admired that about you." Draco could have the whole school hating him and still walk through the halls with his chin held high. He never cared about what others thought before. Maybe that was why it had been so jarring to see him lock himself up in fear of the rest of the world.

He still couldn't go more than a few blocks from the flat, and he was always looking over his shoulder when they did go out. Harry was happy that he could at least see some of the old Malfoy confidence shining through when they were alone.

Draco let out a harsh scoff. "I was always afraid to be myself." Harry frowned. Draco raked a hand through his hair. "Do you remember that crane I sent you," his brow was furrowed, and there was a firm frown on his lips, but his face was still red, "and the drawing inside?"

Harry bit his lip, trying very hard not to roll his eyes and scoff as well. "The one of me being electrocuted, yeah."

Draco shrugged. "I love that. I love creating things," he clarified when he noticed the incredulous look from Harry. "I like drawing and origami and learning new ways to create new things. It's why I've always been interested in alchemy. I like having proof that I can make something good."

"Why don't you peruse it?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm a Malfoy. Before, that meant I was supposed to be a ministry man like my father was. I wouldn't have any time for silly little things like doodling. Now… Now no one would want anything I created except to maybe destroy it. There's no point."

"What about for yourself?"

Draco frowned.

Harry smiled. "You say I'm the people pleaser, but why don't you do something, for once, to just please yourself. No one has to see it. Not even me, if you don't want me to. Just do what you want; be who you want. You don't need permission."

"You _are_ a people pleaser," Draco insisted.

Harry rolled his eyes. "We aren't talking about me."

"Fine, I'll do what I want, but only if you do what you want, too." Harry just shook his head, a half-smile on his face. "Come on, Potter, what pleases you?"

Harry looked up, meeting the other man's eyes. He felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest. He didn't know why but his smile began to involuntarily stretch into a grin. "I'm doing it."

"Yeah, right," Draco scoffed. "Like any sane person would actually like having to continue to save the population after doing it for the first seventeen years of their life. Don't you want a break?"

Harry shrugged. "I've just never seen any other option for me. It was prophesized that I'd save people. It's all I'm good at."

Draco shook his head. "As someone who repeatedly lost to you in Quidditch, I can assure you it's not the only thing. I lost to you in a lot of things, actually. I hated how carelessly good you were at everything. I had to work so damn hard, and no one gave a shit."

"I did," Harry admitted without a hint of hesitation. Draco straightened. "I would've never let you know that, though," Harry added. "I liked how much it annoyed you. I always paid attention to you, though," he rubbed his neck, pulling his gaze away, "actually, I think I paid more attention to you than I did to a lot of other things that were going on. School was such a blur."

"Wow, I'm flattered. Did you have a crush on me or something?" Draco teased, a mocking grin skewing half of his mouth.

These words sent a sharp spike of adrenaline through Harry's body. He tried his best not to ponder them or the feeling they caused, letting out a bitter laugh instead, "No, I was an idiot chasing Cho Chang."

"She was…" There was a moment of silence. Harry looked over at Draco to see him struggling to find a response. "…pretty?" Malfoy didn't even sound all that certain about that inference.

Harry gave a breathy chuckle and a small nod but not one that made it clear he particularly agreed. It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive. Of course, he did. But, he found little other interest in her besides her looks ― a hard realization for him to come to at fifteen. "She cried a lot, that's for sure," he mumbled.

"Ouch," Draco scrunched up his face, "are you that bad of a kisser?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, I don't think it was my kissing, though she was my first, so I couldn't really say," he admitted, causing a raised brow from Draco. "There was just a lot going on for both of us, Umbridge for one and then Voldemort being back."

Harry noticed Draco involuntarily cringe at the name. He leaned closer, his hand giving a small squeeze to the knee it was still rested on. "You know you don't need to be scared of him anymore," Harry said gently. "He's dead. You saw his body."

"I know," Draco mumbled. His eyes went past Harry to the wall of windows behind him. The view wasn't interesting enough to look at that long, only more apartment buildings across the street. All the while, he picked at his left sleeve. "I just-" He shook his head, shaking away the thought. "I'm fine." It was easy enough to see that this wasn't true.

Harry began to rub soothing shapes into Draco's knee, occasionally moving partially down his thigh then back up to his knee. He watched Draco's reaction the whole time, only concerned with calming him.

Shaky air fell out of Draco's lips before he sucked in a deep breath and tried to correct his breathing. He straightened and turned to Harry again, who didn't stop rubbing his leg. "So, we were talking about your horrible snogging."

Harry's hand stopped moving, his mouth falling open. "I'm not a horrible snogger!"

Malfoy cringed. "I think Cho Chang would have to disagree. You had the poor girl in tears."

"God damn it, I can't tell you anything!" Harry grabbed the pillow from behind him to smack Draco.

Malfoy held up his arms, pulling his knees closer to block his body. "No, no, tell me," he was barely speaking, laughter falling out of his lips instead. "I like hearing about you not being good at something."

Harry got up on his knees, leaning over Draco as he began to whack him again, letting it punctuate each of his words like their own sentence. "I'm. Not. Bad. At. Snogging!"

Laughter poured out of both of them. Harry was leaning down so closely that Draco's knee was almost hooked on his hip. Draco was too wrapped up in the gleeful moment to hear the words come out of his lips before it was too late, "Fine, prove it."

They both froze. Harry could see the panic begin to rise in Draco's eyes and his first instinct was to move away to give him space. Harry sat back onto his heels. Draco didn't move, staring at him with wide eyes.

"I- I'm sorry. I went too far."

Harry realized that his quick action to get away from Draco might have been taken wrong. He shook his head rapidly. "No, it's okay. I just wasn't expect-"

Draco jumped to his feet. "I have to use the bathroom."

"Wait, Draco. I don't-" But it was too late. Draco had already bolted towards the bedroom. Harry got up to follow, but he heard the sharp click of the bathroom door locking before he could reach it in time. "Draco!" he called, knocking on the door.

"I'll be out in a minute." Draco attempted to make his voice sound light, but it was an octave too high to be natural.

A long sigh left Harry's mouth. He pressed his forehead against the door, feeling his whole body slump in defeat. He didn't want to leave Draco alone, but he also knew he wasn't going to listen to him, and the sooner he left, the sooner Draco would come back out.

Finally, Harry stepped back. He should have done something else. He wasn't sure what he could have done. Draco's words had just shocked him; they didn't offend him or anything like that. Draco wasn't going to believe that, though. Harry had to continually assure him that he even wanted to be there. He wasn't going to just not overthink something like this.

With another sigh, he left the room.

\---

_"God damn it, I can't tell you anything!" Harry grabbed a pillow from the couch to smack the other boy with._

_Draco was laughing. "No, no, tell me. I like hearing about you not being good at something."_

_Harry began to whack him again, letting it punctuate each of his words like their own sentence. "I'm. Not. Bad. At. Snogging!"_

_"Fine, prove it."_

_They both froze. Harry could see the panic begin to rise in Draco's eyes, but he stayed right where he was._

_"I- I'm sorry. I went t-" Harry didn't have to hear the rest of Draco's words. He had quieted Malfoy's panic with one action, pressing his own lips against the other man's._

_Harry pulled away first to see Draco's reaction. A whimper left Draco as he did, and Harry almost didn't examine his face, already knowing how he felt. However, it became even more apparent by his flushed cheeks and dilated eyes and how he tried to follow Harry's mouth when he pulled away._

_"See," Harry hummed, "I'm a damn good snogger."_

_Draco sat up, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck to keep him from going too far. "Shut up." Harry smiled into the next kiss, which Draco initiated. This one was longer and harder, and soon it was Harry groaning for more._

_He wrapped his arms securely around Draco. He sat back on his heels, pulling Draco onto his lap. To his delight, Draco tried to pull their bodies even closer, grinding into Harry's hips._

_Harry's hands roamed up and down the other man's sides. He wanted to feel everything. He wanted to know everything. To touch and kiss and bite every single part of Draco's body. And for an ethereal moment, it felt like that was precisely what he was about to be able to do._

Harry's eyes slowly worked open. He shifted under the thick duvet uncomfortably. It's been a long time since he'd woken up feeling like _this_.

His thoughts caught up with his surroundings before he could make a stupid half-asleep mistake. He was in Draco's flat, in Draco's room. He sat up abruptly, looking down with wide eyes at the sleeping man beside him. He wracked his brain, trying to separate his dream from reality.

For a moment, sadness filled him when he realized which memory was the dream. Then sense finally snapped back. He couldn't be having dreams like that, not about Draco, especially not while sleeping next to him. Thoughts like that would just ruin things.

Harry stumbled out of bed, trying as desperately as possible to stay quiet. He would be mortified if Draco saw him in his current state. He lumbered over to the bathroom, slowly closing the door behind him. The moment there was something solid between him and Draco, he let himself fall into the mess that he was.

What the hell was he doing?

Unbeknownst to Harry, Draco remained in his bed with his eyes wide open as he stared at the closed bathroom door. He was still trying to wrack his brain. Still trying to make sense of what he had just heard and what it meant.

He had woken up, thinking Harry was having another nightmare, but before he could shake him awake, Draco's name came out of Harry's lips on a moan. It was an immensely sensual sound ― one which sent an array of confusing emotions pulsing through Draco's body. He was somewhere between a panic attack and in need of a cold shower.

And laying there in bed, hearing the shower turn on, Draco had the same thought Harry had:

What the hell was he doing?


	10. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of death. No clear description but understandable inferences.

Sleeping in the same bed as Draco became exponentially harder the following days. Harry had come up with the theory years ago that his unconscious mind hated him, now he knew it was true.

He barely got restful nights anymore. If it wasn't a nightmare, then it was a very inappropriate dream about the man lying next to him ― the dreams seemed to leave him more breathless than the nightmares. It also made it immeasurably more awkward during the day. Anytime Draco sat a little closer than usual, brushed his hand over Harry's while they were walking, or just looked at Harry a little too long, Harry found himself a sputtering mess.

All of this didn't outweigh the benefits of staying at the flat. Or maybe it did. He was staying there to get more restful sleep, which wasn't happening, but he was also there to help Draco, and it wasn't Draco's fault that Harry's mind hated him.

He had lost his will to leave some time ago. It all rested with Draco now. Because, as annoying as those dreams were, he couldn't exactly classify them as _bad_ dreams. Nor did he dislike seeing Draco asleep in bed after his umpteenth cold shower.

It was beginning to make him question a few things about himself.

When they watched _Will & Grace_, he watched the two main homosexual men closely but found no real similarities between himself and them. He had no other measurement to put himself up to. Dean and Seamus, but he wasn't sure how to start that conversation.

What made it harder was that every time he considered that maybe, just maybe, he liked the company of men, his uncle's sneers about 'poofs’ on the telly rung in his ears. It was usually followed by how he'd grumble that they should have never legalized _it_.

Harry never actually cared what the man thought of him. If he could help it, he'd never see any of their faces again. But Vernon's and Petunia's constant badgering that they should all fit in still lingered deep inside him. Not to mention the very common schoolyard taunts in muggle schools —young kids throwing around the word 'gay' as an insult without really understanding the word yet.

Harry wasn't the type to overthink things, though. If it had been anyone else, maybe he would have said to hell with it and just perused the feeling. It wasn't someone else, though. It was Draco Malfoy. It was his schoolyard nemesis. It was Voldemort's chosen one. It was the person Harry cared so much about that he wasn't sure he could handle things going badly between them.

No matter how Harry was starting to feel, he would stay silent. He had to, even if it hurt. He couldn't scare Draco away. For once, he'd have to demonstrate some sort of restraint.

Nevertheless, Harry decided to walk to the flat after visiting Kreacher, taking the longer route which went past Allure. The club hadn't changed in the last few months, its rainbow flag still flying high. Men were just beginning to queue up outside as the evening grew closer. Its patrons hadn't changed much either. They were still unique in their own way; no one fitting perfectly into the stereotype that was shown on the television.

There was no way in hell Harry could talk Draco into coming here or even just bring him past. He would have a panic attack just looking at the queue going inside the relatively small building. Harry could go in alone. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd be looking for. Maybe a sign. Perhaps someone who could replace Draco in his dreams.

Of course, Harry wasn't aware that Draco was having a similar internal struggle. More than once, he'd caught the other man moaning his name at night. And, more than once, he caught himself pleased about it. The latter was more terrifying.

It was bad enough people hated him for what he'd done in the war. What would they think if they found out he'd turned their precious Potter gay?

The wizarding world was still having fights about blood-purity after centuries of arguments. They weren't about to look fondly on homosexuality without a second's thought. Draco would likely be accused of giving Harry a love potion. It would be the final straw. He knew they already had a cell in Azkaban with his name on it. They'd be more than willing to find some sort of excuse to finally chuck him in.

That is assuming that was really what was going on. Maybe Draco was wholly misplaced in what he was hearing. Harry had moved away very quickly when Draco had suggested a quick snog. Draco tried to test his reactions by sitting a little closer than usual or being less careful about hand placement when they were walking, and each time Harry would get flustered and move away.

No, there was a complete misunderstanding going on here. They were just spending too much time together. It wasn't that odd that Draco could be showing up in Harry's dreams, and he had no idea what he was actually dreaming about. Draco simply needed to act normal. They were just friends, and it was better that it stay that way.

Despite all of these thoughts, and Draco telling himself he should suggest that they spend some time apart, he found himself checking the clock multiple times when Harry didn't come home as soon as usual.

There was a knock on the door. Draco nearly fell out of his chair. He stared at the door wildly.

"It's me, Draco, I walked here," Harry's voice called through the door.

Draco grabbed his wand and hurried to unhook the latch. He had stopped leaving the door unlocked since Harry usually just apparated into the flat.

When he opened the door, Harry stood there with a heavy smile and tired eyes. "Sorry, I should have buzzed in to warn you."

"Why did you walk here?" Draco asked, moving aside to let him in.

Harry hung up his cloak then brought his bag to the dining table. "I needed some fresh air to think about this case," he said. It wasn't a complete lie. That had been his original reasoning. He had just ended up outside of Allure when he decided to take the longer route.

Draco closed the door and waved his wand at the latch, putting a few extra magical locks on it as Harry had suggested some time ago. "Same one as yesterday?" he asked, joining Harry at the table.

Harry made a gruff sound of confirmation and nodded his head.

Draco's gaze lingered on Harry's hands as he began to pull files from his bag to lie out on the table. Draco knew the rules. He wasn't supposed to ask. He usually just left Harry to his work while he read or watched television.

Usually, Harry would only sit for an hour or so after dinner, then he'd be able to pull himself away and rejoin Draco. That wasn't how it was working this time. Whatever this case was seemed to be driving him particularly crazy. He had been reading files out of the corner of his eye as they ate the night before, and he didn't come to bed until almost midnight with apparently no resolution.

"What's it about? Maybe I could-"

"I told you. I can't talk about work," Harry spoke harsher than he meant to.

Draco responded with just as much sharpness. "Then why are you bringing it home?"

Harry's brain lingered on the word 'home' coming out of Draco's mouth. It didn't sound incorrect. Nevertheless, he couldn't dwell on it, sensing Draco's impatience rising. Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Because we need to close this case before someone else gets killed."

Trying to change the subject, Harry reached over to the pile of restaurant menus on the counter. "What do you feel like eating tonight?"

Reluctantly, Draco went along with the distraction. They decided on Indian food, and Harry went off to collect it.

Draco had been doing so well with keeping his temper in line. It drove him mad that Harry interrupted their time together to continue to do the work he'd just spent a majority of the day doing. It was worse when Kreacher popped into the flat in the middle of the night to deliver a message from the Auror Office, usually that Harry was needed at once. At the very least, these were rare events before but with whatever this case was, it was almost always one or the other each night. Harry barely got enough sleep to even function properly.

Frustration, and a bit of curiosity, got the better of Draco. Harry would be gone fifteen to twenty minutes. He had plenty of time to take a peek before he got back. Maybe there was something simple Harry was simply too tired to see.

With a fleeting look at the door, Draco swept his wand over the table. A small gust of wind pushed open the file on top. Draco looked down out of the corner of his eye as if scared Harry might walk back in at any second.

The first thing he noticed was the pictures on top. For the first time, Draco wished he was looking at muggle photographs. At least they didn't move. With muggle photos, he wouldn't have to see the flies buzzing around the still bodies, giving it another layer of reality. These were once real people who now had their intestines littered across the stone pavement.

Draco lowered slowly into one of the chairs. His stomach churned as he flipped through the photographs. He understood why Harry was so upset.

These were gruesome scenes. However, Draco noticed that most of the more eye-catching aspects of the scenes were done post-mortem. He'd seen enough bodies be dragged out of his drawing-room after one of Voldemort's tantrums. He remembered how furious his mother had been with that executioner for not disposing of them properly as he'd been told; instead, he left them to rot next to her rose bushes. Draco wasn't sure if he had preferred them lying there intact to look at him or the resulting carnage the executioner had left afterward to 'fertilize' her garden. Whoever was committing these murders had just about the same tact. Messy and quick and almost excited to be causing this kind of damage.

The executioner… Walden Macnair. He had a tattoo on his chest. Draco brought one of the photos closer, squinting his eyes at the wrist of what he was pretty sure was a woman. It was a round open shape, like an unfinished drawing of a keyhole.

Draco pushed the photos away, starting through the files. The wizarding world had a poor form of forensics. It seemed they usually just followed the smell of magic and hoped the person at the end of it was the guilty party. There were some notes, though.

He had gotten halfway through the second victim's file when the door opened. For a moment, Draco completely forgot that he wasn't supposed to be snooping, too engrossed in his reading. He barely considered Harry's presence behind the counters as he put the food down. It's only when Harry bellowed at him that he realizes his mistake. "What are you doing?"

Draco jumped to his feet. He slapped the file closed and turned his back on it as if that would be enough to convince Harry that his eyes were fooling him. "What?"

"You were just reading my files!"

"You left it open," Draco claimed but to no avail.

"No, I didn't." Harry stepped around the counter towards him. Draco shuffled back but only found the table against his legs.

Draco bit his lip. "Okay, maybe a breeze knocked it open, but I think I can help-"

"No! Do you know how much trouble I'll be in?" Harry stamped forward, shoving Draco aside to begin collecting his things. "Do you know how much trouble _we'll_ be in? They don't even know we…" Harry shook his head profusely, shaking off that sentence. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone-"

Draco had barely moved in his spot. Growing more and more annoyed that Harry wouldn't listen to him. "Can you stop scolding me for five seconds, or do you just not want to solve this case?"

Harry straightened, opened his mouth to yell, assessed his words, and then closed it again. "You know who's doing this?"

Draco crossed his arms. "I think I have a pretty good guess at the very least."

"Who?"

“Macnair. Walden Macnair.”

Harry frowned. He knew that name. He was the one the ministry had sent to execute Buckbeak their third-year. He remembered Hagrid mentioning him during the Battle of Hogwarts. He was on the list of unaccounted for Death Eaters. "How do you know?"

Draco reached for the files. Harry flinched, causing Draco to raise a brow. Harry's jaw was clenched, but he slowly moved his hand out of the way. Draco flipped open the top two files until he found the pictures. "You see this symbol on their wrists?"

"Yeah, that's how we knew they were all connected." Nonetheless, Harry squinted at the photograph.

"It's the alchemic symbol for death. Macnair had it tattooed to his chest."

Harry's eyes widened, first in great excitement and then in surprise. His gaze skimmed over Draco once. "How do you know that?"

Draco's heart began to pound in his ears. "I, er- I healed him." A stern frown formed on Harry's face. Draco could barely look at him. "Your side wasn't the only one that had injured people. They all showed up to the manor in droves. We had to do something, so my mum taught me how to heal. She said she had to patch up Bellatrix a lot growing up; she got into a lot of fights.

"This has to be Macnair. I wouldn't put it past him to kill like this. He loved it," Draco went on, returning sharply to the original direction of the conversation. "He knows how to cut, too. He used to dispose of bodies at the manor. Not well though, that's why it's a mess. He was an executioner of creatures for the ministry. He only knew vague anatomy."

"That- That might actually be enough. At least it gives us reason to question him. I need to take this to Robards now." Harry resumed picking up the files, stuffing them back into his bag.

"What? Now?"

"I can't just sit on this." Harry slung the bag over his shoulder. "Macnair could be killing someone else right now." He started towards the door, not even considering that he was still in muggle clothes.

"I told you so you could relax. You've barely slept. You hardly eat. Please, just wait until after dinner. Take a shower. _Take a moment to breathe_."

"I can't!" Harry snapped. His mind moving too fast as he processed all the information he'd just been given to notice just how harshly he had spoken.

His shoulders fell when he saw Draco's face fall. "Draco…" He stepped back towards the other man. "Dray…"

Draco looked up, but his expression was still dowered. He looked like a beaten Crup.

Harry let out a sigh. He walked back to Draco and cupped his shoulder. "You know, Roberts is always telling me how we need more informants." Draco perked up. Harry had to restrain a smile at how quickly that worked. "He says I play too rough, so they never want to help us out later."

Draco crossed his arms, leaning away from Harry to size him up. "I'd like to just see you try to be rough with me."

Warmth rushed to the pit of Harry's stomach. He already knew he would be dissecting that statement later. By the wide eyes and flush on Draco's face, he wouldn't be the only one.

Harry shook his head, trying to turn his work brain back on. "It pays," Harry prodded. When this didn't look like incentive enough, he continued. "And it means I get to talk to you about work, so you can help me. And it might help sway a few people's opinions of you within the Auror's Office."

"I don't care about their opinions," Draco said primly. Harry began to attempt to reset, trying not to become too defensive of either side. Draco beat him before he could. "Can I be anonymous? Enough people hate me; I don't need Death Eaters breaking down my door, too."

"Of course."

"Okay then."

"Is that a yes? You'll be an informant."

Draco sighed like it was the most annoying thing he had ever been asked to do in his life. "Yes, Potter, I'll be an anonymous informant."

A grin began to crack Harry's face open. If he didn't want the money or the recognition, was he really just doing this so Harry could tell him about his day? It would be nice to get some of this stuff off his shoulders. Telling Ron or Neville didn't help much, considering they were carrying the same load.

There was one hiccup, though. His smile dampened. "I'll have to tell Roberts, though, just so he knows my information is creditable."

Draco thought for a moment, his hand brushing along his jaw in his contemplation. "Fine, but only him. I don't even want Weasley or Longbottom to know. There's no telling how bad they are at keeping their mouths shut under coercion."

Harry nodded profusely.

"Fine, go on," Draco sighed. "But you should know I'll be waiting up to make sure you eat something, so don't take too long."

"You don't have-"

"You aren't getting out of a meal because you feel like being a hero," Draco insisted.

Harry frowned. "Fine, stay up if you want but don't wait to eat because of me." His eyes skimmed over Draco's body, which was finally beginning to fill out again and looking marginally healthy.

"Yeah, yeah," Draco sighed, waving his hand. "Now go on. Save the world."

There was a weight deep in Harry's chest. It attempted to keep him from leaving. He knew he had to, though. There was a maniac on the loose, who he might be able to stop. Confusing emotions aside, he couldn't stay just because he wanted to be with Draco.

Dressed in muggle clothes with his bag in hand, Harry released Draco and apparated away on the spot. Draco sucked in a deep breath. It was going to be a long night.

He tried to eat; he really did. He knew how much that concerned Harry. More than once, he teased that Harry was trying to fatten him up for something. He couldn't get much down, though. His eyes were glued to the clock.

Most of the Auror's had to be out of the office by now. They were likely at home with their families and trying to wind down for the day. Was Harry planning on showing up on their doors, asking if anyone would help him track this lead? Draco wouldn't put it past him. He could tell Harry was ready to pursue this, even if it meant going on his own. He really hoped Harry wouldn't be that stupid. It was Harry Potter, though.

It was ten past eleven when a popping sound finally took Draco's attention away from the mind-numbing program he'd been watching.

Draco stood from the sofa, his eyes scanning Harry's body up and down for any wounds. The other man stomped back to the dining table, throwing his bag down so hard that they were liable to get a complaint from downstairs.

"What happened? You didn't find him?"

"No," Harry snapped. "Like you said, he used to work for the ministry, alongside Aurors at times for unusual cases. He knows our tactics. It's why he hasn't been caught before this. He knows how to hide. We have people looking, but," Harry shook his head, "Robards doesn't have much hope. He's too smart."

"No, he's mad," Draco corrected, stepping around the sofa. "He's always been absolutely mad. He must have finally slipped over the very thin line of control he had. It's hard to catch crazy. They aren't predictable. You can't beat yourself up because you can't get him right away."

"I need to do something." Harry grabbed the back of one of the dining chairs, his fingers clutching the lumber so hard that they turned white. "I need to look. I need to-"

"Harry, you've done all you can right now," Draco tried to coo. He took a calculated step closer, watching Harry's reactions. Harry didn't like him to be too close when he was all riled up, but he appeared too deep in thought to notice this time. "Eat, sleep. You'll be able to think better tomorrow if you do."

"If another person dies because I couldn't save them." Harry spun on his heel, starting towards the door again.

He didn't get far. Draco launched himself forward, grabbing Harry's wrist. "Harry, please. You're in no state to be out there. Just sleep a few hours. _Stay with me_."

Harry stared. His chest heaving as adrenaline pumped through his body. All he wanted to do was spin around and start kicking down every door in Britain to find Macnair. Draco was right, though. He wasn't going to find him like that. Even if he did, he'd be too weak to put up a real fight.

His shoulders loosened, and Draco began to feel relieved before Harry even nodded. Harry's jaw was still tight, but he let Draco guide him back to the dining table. He reheated the takeaway and sat to eat with Harry. It was a mostly quiet affair. Draco could still see Harry's wheels turning. He was barely keeping himself in his chair.

When they were done, Draco took the plates and ordered Harry to take a shower. "If you don't get in that shower right now, I'll finally fulfill that fetish of yours and get in the shower with you. However, trust me, I won't make it pleasant."

"Git," Harry grumbled as he dragged his feet towards the bathroom.

After everything was clean ― the kitchen and Harry ― Draco decided it was better that they just go straight to bed. Harry was running on fumes as it was. He should have no problem falling asleep once he was actually under the covers.

There was some tossing and turning, but finally, after Draco grabbed one of his hands and began to make soothing shapes into his palm and up his forearm, he faded into sleep.

\---

The next morning, Draco woke up to find the spot beside him empty. He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed. The bed felt unnaturally cold when he was alone.

Despite this, he tried to roll over and just go back to sleep. He wasn't in the mood to be productive today. However, the tapping sound coming from the sitting room insisted that he didn't get away with this.

With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed and walked out. An owl was bouncing on the concrete balcony, tapping its beak against the glass. Draco already recognized who it belonged to.

He opened the glass door, and the owl soared in, perching itself on the back of one of the dining chairs. Draco untied the letter from its foot. He shuttered as he read the eloquent script.

Was it already that time of the year again? Draco looked around wildly as he attempted to find a date marked somewhere. Coming up empty, he scrambled for the remote and continued to flip channels until he found a news broadcast showing the weather. His body went cold.

1 May 2001

Draco's fingers trembled as he folded the letter once again. These last few months had gone by so quickly, he had barely noticed time passing with Harry around. He began to wonder if Harry knew what the date was. That would explain his extra stress with this case.

The owl's wings flapping past his head on its way outside grounded him abruptly. He closed and latched the door to the balcony again, then turned to the expanse of his flat. It had become relatively cluttered over the last few weeks. They had yet to even put the chessboard away after their last game, several broken pieces of a rook and pawn littering the carpet in the sitting room. If she was coming tomorrow, then he should clean up.

\---

There was a pop and a clamor. Draco pulled his head from the wardrobe, throwing out an old top he hadn't worn in a while. There were a few grunts, and something thumped onto the ground. He walked out into the living space.

Harry had returned, his cloak already ripped off and thrown over the sofa, his shoulders tense. He was slapping files onto the dining table.

"No luck with Macnair, I'm assuming," Draco spoke carefully. He remained in the bedroom doorway, not yet sure if this was a situation that required a door between them.

"No," Harry grumbled. "Robards says he's doing everything he can, but he's too distracted with everything going on tomorrow." So, Harry did know what tomorrow was.

Draco hesitated. He would have to warn Harry eventually, and maybe it would lighten his mood, or at least distract him. "I guess it's a bad time to bring up the fact that we'll be having a guest tomorrow." Harry looked back with his brow creased, and Draco explained further, "Pansy is coming over. She always comes over on the anniversary."

"Oh," Harry turned back to the files. "That's fine. I won't be here most of the day anyway."

"You won't?" Draco took a step forward. The thought that Harry would be around tomorrow had been the only thing keeping him relatively calm all day. "But I thought the Ministry closes on the anniversary."

"Most of the departments, yes," Harry agreed, not turning back around. "Kingsley has a big event at headquarters, though ― also he has his annual speech."

"That's not until the evening, though," Draco attempted, moving closer again. He remembered hearing the minister's speech on the one year anniversary, or the first five minutes of it. Lucius had shut off the wireless and grumbled about it being meaningless publicity to get the minister reelected.

"The Auror Office is still open. I'm technically not on shift, but I can't skive off tomorrow," Harry said. "Dark wizards don't sleep."

"They do actually," Draco urged, "you should know, we share a bed."

A long sigh left Harry's lips, and he finally tore his gaze away from his papers to look at Draco. "You aren't a dark wizard, Draco."

"I was one," he insisted, ignoring the dower look on Harry's face. "And I'm telling you, you're no threat in the state you're in right now."

"I slept last night."

"Yeah, after I practically held you down!" Draco closed the bit of space between them to grab Harry's shoulders, keeping him from looking at his paperwork again. "If you haven't caught him yet, then you aren't going to catch him tomorrow. Let someone else worry about it for one day. Please, stay."

Harry's mouth opened to argue, but his voice didn't come out. He felt some of the tension leave his body as he studied the other man's face. It was like the night before all over again. As much as he wanted to tell Draco no, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't leave him alone when he asked.

"Okay," Harry sighed. Draco's eyes instantly lit up, and it made Harry's heart flutter. "I have to go to the speech, but I won't go into the office."

Draco attempted to curb his smile, but it turned into a grin nonetheless. Harry completely melted. His heart was still hammering, but it wasn't from anger anymore. _Had Draco always been that…pretty?_

Food was always an excellent way for Harry to distract himself. He was surprised he didn't weigh a ton by now. Nonetheless, he appreciated it as he tried to not think about the case or the way Draco's grey orbs glittered when he talked about something he liked. He could honestly listen to any alchemic theory or nearly successful potion attempts if it meant Draco kept smiling like that.

Harry wished they'd been this close during the war, or even before. He could have used that smile back then. Instead, all he had were vague instructions and horcruxes weighing him down. Sometimes he swore he could still feel the weight of that horrible locket around his neck.

The night he had attempted to pull the sword of Gryffindor from the bottom of that icy pool flooded his mind. His throat began to constrict in memory of the chain closing around it. He remembered how his body involuntarily tried to force air back into his body, but only water tunneled in. Thrashing, suffocating, and scrabbling at the strangled chain with frozen fingers.

"Harry?"

Harry blinked up at Draco. He could see the other man, and he was vaguely by the look on his face that he was concerned. Harry couldn't find an appropriate reaction. The crushing feeling had vanished from his neck, but his body continued to feel numb as if he was still in those icy depths.

"I finished with the dishes," Draco offered. Harry didn't understand why that concerned him. In an attempt to satisfy, he gave a little grunt.

Draco stepped closer until he was right in front of Harry. When Harry only kept blinking at him, he reached down and grabbed his hand. Harry let him pull him to his feet then lead him to the couch. He wasn't really sure what to think. He felt like a passenger in his own body.

Draco sat down first, and Harry copied the motion beside him. Draco tried to talk to him about what they should watch, but Harry just nodded politely, his eyes watching the television screen but clearly vacant.

In honesty, Draco knew he shouldn't be surprised. The Macnair case was likely the only thing keeping Harry going right now. If Draco wasn't so worried about Harry's safety, then he might tell him to just go into work if it meant he'd perk up a bit.

It was obviously not the first time he'd seen Harry like this. It happened every once in a while. He'd go silent for a bit. The thing was, Draco knew he, himself, did it as well.

More than once, he had looked up at the clock and realized that hours had passed without him noticing, or he found himself wandering around his house without really knowing why. However, Harry was usually around for when that happened now, and he always tried to keep Draco somewhat present so he couldn't dissociate completely. Draco knew his favorite way of staying grounded.

He reached out a gentle hand, barely applying any pressure to Harry's bare forearm. Harry turned his head towards him. He blinked a few times, and his eyes slowly began to clear up as Draco moved his hand up and down his arm. The muscles around Harry's mouth tugged involuntarily, a ghostly smile forming on his lips.

Draco moved up his arm to his back, and Harry leaned into his touch. His stiff form gradually softened, and he eased back into the sofa.

"You were right about your hair," Draco mused, watching as his hands rubbed just before where his shirt collar ended. "Trimming it didn't help any."

"Told you so," Harry muttered, his shoulders gradually loosening.

Draco pinched a small tuff at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down Harry's back. Feeling bold, Draco slowly moved his fingers through the inky locks, waiting for Harry to eventually shoo him away. It never happened. In actuality, the slow movement caused Harry's eyes to flutter closed.

They sat like that for a while. The television ran in the background, but Draco only watched Harry's reaction as he ran his fingers through his hair. He worked his fingers through most of his head, eventually ending up at his fringe, brushing it back from his forehead. He froze, his fingers still twisted in the other man's hair, as his eyes found the splintered shape etched into his skin.

Harry's eyes flashed open. He peered up at Draco, first confused as to why he had stopped and then the unmistakable dread muddling up his gaze.

Draco pulled his hand away, and Harry thought he would pull away completely. Before he could even decide how he felt about that, he felt cool skin against his forehead.

All of his focus came back at once. He studied Draco's face as Draco, himself, examined his scar. He dragged his fingers along the whole shape, making another shutter roll through Harry's body. He repeated this action a few times before his fingers returned to Harry's mane.

This continued, and their attention slow turned back to the television. After a while, Draco's fingers stopped moving until he just let his arm drape across the back of the sofa. Harry almost seemed to follow his hand, sitting deep into the sofa and dropping his head back against Draco's arm.

If it meant they could stay in this moment forever, Draco would cast any spell or take on any curse. Especially if it meant the next day would never have to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is great because I don’t remember writing half of it. I swear I only write this in the middle of the night, jotting down notes into my phone; half asleep on the computer when I should be in bed; or when I’m so frustrated with homework that I just angrily write between assignments. They are just so addicting to write about.


	11. The Anniversary

Draco awoke with great relief to find Harry's serene, sleeping face still on the pillow next to his. While he did like Harry's glasses on him, he also loved seeing him like this despite what he said to his face. The sight of Harry looking as natural as he could possibly be, the stretched scar on his forehead included. He remembered the way Harry looked at him when he touched it. Startled and then, gradually, calm.

He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had ever touched it before besides Harry, himself. Was it another thing that only Draco was privy to, like seeing him in the morning without glasses? Ron and his other roommates from Hogwarts had likely seen that before. But had anyone else woken up to it beside them? Maybe the Weasley girl. Had she touched his scar as well?

An overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it again came over him. It was as if he wanted to erase any trace of anyone else's presence. He knew he shouldn't. Harry was asleep. It would be weird. And what if he woke up? That would be even worse.

In contradiction to all of these thoughts, Draco still found himself reaching forward. He just wanted to feel it one more time. He wanted to touch the last bit of proof that the Dark Lord had no more power over this world ― the boy and his mark who saved them all not once but twice.

His fingers brushed against the pleated skin.

There was an abrupt pop from the living area.

Draco yanked his hand away and stared at the door with wide eyes. Then a sing-song voice called out, "Draco, rise and shine!" The doorknob began to giggle, and he was only able to sit up before the door flew open. "Your fav-"

Pansy’s mouth fell into a perfect, dark red ‘O’.

Draco scrambled out of bed. Only once he was on his feet did he look to Harry to check if he was still asleep. To his great relief, it appeared he hadn’t been disturbed in Draco’s haste.

Draco looked back to Pansy, who was trying to form words but only looked like a fish out of water. Before she could find her tongue, he launched himself forward and yanked her out of the room.

Once they were out, she attempted to speak again, but he put up his hand, silencing her again. She watched, still completely baffled, as he closed the bedroom door behind him, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Getting Harry to bed had taken too much effort. Draco wasn’t about to let Pansy wake him up early.

Only once the door was closed did he finally look at her to hiss, "Can't you use the front door, or possibly knock?"

Her mouth finally closed to purse her lips. "I sent you a letter yesterday. That was me knocking.” She crossed her arms, putting her nose in the air. “I'm not about to risk being seen walking into a muggle place like this.

“Well, at least knock on my bedroom door next time,” he huffed.

She brought her eyes back to him. “Sorry if I wasn’t expecting you to have someone in your bed, let alone _Harry Bloody Potter_? The last I checked, you were a hermit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. I told you he's been coming over.”

“Yeah, you complained a few months ago that he was dropping off food at your door and sitting outside your window. Which, by the way, spells stalker to me,” she pointed to the bedroom door, “not really bed-sharing material.”

He batted away her accusing finger. “I also told you that I started letting him in and that we occasionally had dinner and shopped together.”

“No, you said he kept showing up at your house, so you gave in and let him eat inside with you and that he dragged you to shops.”

“It doesn’t matter. You knew about it,” he said sternly, crossing his arms.

“I knew he was being an annoying, self-righteous Gryffindor who couldn’t help but jump on the first sorry case he saw. And, yes, Draco, you were a sorry case. I still love you, though. What I didn’t know is that you two share a bed.”

“What’s the big deal? You and I used to sleep in the same bed all of the time when we were little.”

“When we were little!” she exclaimed. “He is shirtless!” Draco didn’t see anything strange with this. Plenty of guys slept without shirts. He was about to say as much when he noticed her purse her lips again as her eyes became distant, and she looked back on an old memory. “At least this explains a lot about when we were in school,” she muttered.

He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You have Harry Potter half-naked in your bed! What do you think that means? Playing paddy-cake? If that’s what you want to call it, then by all means…”

Draco’s eyes widened. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d known where she was going with this but hearing it out loud sent a shock down his spine. “Don’t make it sound so dirty. We’re only friends.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, like you haven’t at least thought about it.”

“I’m not- We aren’t- You know you can leave if you’re just going to continue to be an unbearable bitch.”

She scoffed, her eyes lingering on the door. “I would normally say otherwise, but I can see you’re well taken care of.” Her eyes flitted back to him. "In more ways than one."

“Pansy!” he snapped, but she only smirked at him. He deflated. She was the worst person to try to insult. She loved getting people riled up far too much, and insults were only proof she was getting under your skin. “Don’t talk like that when he wakes up,” said Draco. “I beg of you.”

She raised a well-groomed brow. “I thought Draco Malfoy didn’t beg.”

“This situation is different."

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “I’m sure _he’s_ heard you beg a few times.”

Draco blushed madly. The worst part was that he really couldn’t deny it. The last few days, he had begged Potter quite a bit but only so he’d stay in the house and not get himself hurt. “Please,” his shoulders fell, “just don’t scare him away.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I won’t, I won’t.” Her eyes skimmed over the apartment. “Honestly, I might try to beg him to stay, myself, if he ever considers leaving.” She turned her scrutinizing gaze to Draco. “You actually look healthy. If I knew getting you a boyfriend would help you this much, then I’d have found you one ages ago.”

Draco sent her a sharp glare. “He’s not my boyfriend.” He softened then. “And it couldn’t be just anyone. He knows what it’s like. He was in the thickest part of the war, just like me. He doesn’t pity me, and he doesn’t tell me I’m over exaggerating. He’s just… He’s there whenever I need him.”

The door suddenly creaked open. A near toddler-like Harry came wandering out, pushing up his glasses as he rubbed the sleep out of his eye. “Dray?”

Pansy’s eyes became the size of bludgers. She started to open her mouth but clamped it shut the second she saw the dark look coming off of Draco.

“What are you-?” He stopped abruptly, spotting the new guest in the house. He scrambled to put his glasses on properly. “Oh, er- Hey, Parkinson.”

Pansy sucked on her teeth, an appraising glance moving down his shirtless form. Harry suddenly became self-conscious, hugging himself. A brief spurt of something sharp shot through Draco’s chest as he stepped into her view. She pushed her lips together, trying not to laugh at either of their reactions. “Potter,” she greeted as sweetly as possible though it still sounded like a mild threat.

“I, er-” Harry stumbled back into the bedroom. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

Pansy was having more and more trouble hiding her grin as she watched him trip over himself. They were acting awfully strange for a pair of ‘friends.’ It was almost as if they had just been caught doing something they’d been trying to hide. Draco didn’t need Legilimency to know the woman’s thoughts. He sharpened his glare, but she merely smiled wickedly in return.

Once both Harry and Draco were adequately dressed, they considered what to do with the day. In an attempt to annoy Pansy just as much as she was annoying him, Draco suggested the English Rose Café. She was absolutely horrified. It was perfect.

However, despite the atrocious prospect of eating with muggles, Pansy couldn’t help but be more surprised that Draco was the one to suggest it. Not for blood purity reasons but merely the suggestion that they leave the flat. It took hours for her to just drag him to get food. That’s why she eventually just started buying it by herself and bringing it by when she visited.

Draco was still on edge on the streets, but Pansy observed how Potter would touch his hand, and he’d calm down a bit. He wasn’t all there. It was more like he was letting Potter lead him, but he was _trying_. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder every five seconds. He didn’t have his shoulders caved in. He stood tall and walked by himself, merely using Potter as a guard-rail whenever he got off balance.

They arrived at the café to find it a little busier than their usual lazy Saturdays, but it was mostly business people in a hurry to get their drinks and get out. Draco and Harry waved at Heather, who they were delighted to see worked the Wednesday shift as well.

They sat in their regular spot in the corner of the café beside the lounges. When there was a short break of new walk-ins, Heather left the counter and found the trio. “Glad to see you’re introducing more people to our little place,” she said, looking at Pansy.

The witch didn’t respond. She wouldn’t even look at the muggle. Her eyes were on the window, a sneer on her lips as she watched people walk by.

“Ignore her,” Draco sighed. “Her main personality trait is bitch.”

Heather’s eyes went wide while Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. Pansy’s venomous gaze snapped to Draco. He shrugged. “What? Are you going to try to act like it’s not true?”

She narrowed her eyes but otherwise didn’t disagree. She slowly returned her gaze to the window.

“Well,” Heather looked nervously between Draco and Harry, “do one of you know what she wants?”

Harry started to tell her to give her their usual, but Pansy interrupted. “Give me whatever is your best.”

Heather’s brow crinkled. “You mean our most popular?”

Pansy scoffed loudly. “Merlin, no,” Heather tilted her head at the odd expression, the boys tensed, “the general public are idiots. Give me your best,” she glanced at the chalkboard menu, “of whatever it is you sell here.”

“The usual,” Heather gestured to Harry and Draco, “and one barista’s choice coming right up.” She tossed Pansy a wink then spun away.

Both of the boys looked at Pansy, who was suddenly sitting up very straight. “Are you okay, Pans?” asked Draco.

“Hm?” She gave her head a hard shake then pulled her sneer back on. “I was just silently praying to Salazar that whatever this is doesn’t poison me.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s coffee, and you’ll be fine. Stop being dramatic.”

“Says Slytherin’s former, resident drama queen.”

“I was not dramatic. I was expressive.”

“You entered rooms like someone had released doves behind you.”

“Don’t laugh!” Draco snapped, seeing Harry’s smile flash in the corner of his eye.

Harry put a hand over his mouth, but his eyes were still sparkling with mirth. He looked at Pansy. “He did do that, didn’t he?”

She placed her elbow on the table, a smirk spreading across her lips as she rested her chin in her palm. “You noticed too, huh? What else did you notice?”

Harry sent Draco a nervous glance, and Draco assumed he was getting uncomfortable. He attempted to intercept Pansy before she pushed too far, but Harry surprised him by speaking up. “He talked with his hands a lot.”

Draco’s gaze snapped to the man. He appeared utterly betrayed. Harry felt remorse only for a moment before Pansy suddenly lit up. “He did!”

At the expense of Draco’s great anguish, the pair continued to chat about his various habits. After they’d gone back and forth only a few times, his face had become bright red though not even Draco himself was sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

Heather was his ultimate rescue. She appeared with their orders, handing the boys their usuals and placing something with an extra amount of cream and a fancy chocolate drizzle in front of Pansy.

Pansy stared at her drink apprehensively as the boys sipped away, utterly untroubled by their own. “It won’t bite you,” Draco urged after a few seconds.

She sent him a stern glare. “How do you know that?”

Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Muggle things don’t typically do that.”

When this didn’t persuade Pansy anymore, Draco groaned. “Just try it.”

With another sharp glare out of the corner of her eyes, she picked up the mug. After another thorough examination, she finally brought it to her lips. She jumped when the warmth touched her lips then her eyes widened. Her gaze snapped to Heather, who was watching carefully from behind the counter. A smile spread across the muggle’s face. “Do you like it?” she called from across the shop.

Pansy took the mug from her face, a cream mustache staying behind, and nodded her head profusely. Heather giggled in delight. Harry started to point out the white mark on her face, but Draco sent him a quelling look. He shut his mouth, pressing his lips together as he tried not to laugh.

Heather had more empathy. When Pansy frowned at the pair, Heather pointed to her upper lip. Pansy copied the gesture before her face became as red as her lips, and she began to fervently clean off her face without ruining her makeup.

“You’re no fun,” Draco whined to Heather, who just continued to giggle.

Pansy waited until the girl turned away before yanking Draco by his shirt to hiss in his face. “I will cut off your ballocks with my nails.”

He didn’t show a hint of fear. On the contrary, he was trying not to laugh. “Down, kitty. You’ll get wrinkles by frowning like that.”

She was clearly reluctant but eventually let her face smooth, returning to a dignified pose and sipping at her latte. Draco was still smirking as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his top.

Harry was wholly entertained. He had never seen a pair of friends interact quite like this before. The closest was the bickering of the Weasley siblings; however, there was a certain venomousness to this pair that was far more interesting.

For Pansy being so against coming to the muggle café, she was incredibly reluctant to leave. When they finally got her out, they went back to the flat. It was decided that they’d play a three-person game of exploding snap ― a dangerous proposition since it only added to the chances of cards exploding, but it also added to the excitement.

“What’s this?” Pansy inquired as they cleared off the table. She had picked up one of the Macnair case files, beginning to flip through it.

“No, don’t-” Draco exclaimed, reaching for the file, but Harry had already turned around.

He snatched the files before Draco could. “Those are confidential.”

“Oh, big bad Auror, huh?” Pansy teased. She folded her arms and put on an air of indifference. It wasn’t compelling. She kept a wary eye on the folder. “I have a feeling it has something to do with those muggle deaths.”

“You know about it?” Draco asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Please, not even the Auror Office can hide blatant murders like that from the Daily Prophet. It’s better for my image that I stay away from that type of stuff, but it is causing quite the stir on the floor.”

“Right, you work at the Prophet,” Harry said. “Do you have any idea where they are getting their information? Half of what they’re releasing isn’t supposed to be on public record.”

She shrugged. “All Abberley will say is that he has a reliable source. If what you’re saying is true, then I’m assuming you have a leak.”

Harry’s eyes slanted to Draco. That wasn’t the first time he’d heard of a possible leak in the ministry. The last one had told Terry Skeres where Draco lived, but there was little to no investigation ― the safety of ex-Death Eaters wasn’t high on anyone’s priority list at the ministry.

Draco knew what Harry was thinking, and he knew how much the whole Skeres case bothered him. He had figured out a while ago that nothing had happened to his attacker ― or he at least assumed it when Harry never brought it up again. He wasn’t surprised. The war had not been over long enough for all prejudices to be erased ― from either side. Maybe it never would be. Draco certainly didn’t expect it to in his lifetime. There was no use fighting it anymore.

One thing did bother Draco, though, something he had overlooked when reading the files himself. “I didn’t realize they were muggles. How do you know a wizard is doing it at all?” Of course, there was the symbol on the wrist, but that didn’t scream wizardry, merely a demented individual.

“Magic residue on the bodies,” Harry answered, giving up on his attempt to be secretive with either of them, “and they’re showing up at wizarding locations. The first one was outside the visitor’s entrance to the ministry, the second in Godric’s Hollow, and the last was in Knockturn Alley.”

Draco frowned at the folder again, as if he could see through the thick paper. That didn’t add up with the assumption that they had all been random killings. Draco had watched enough muggle television to know that location mattered. “I might have been mistaken about him being crazy,” Draco said. Harry looked at him oddly. “Well, he is crazy, but he isn’t stupid. Weren’t you nearly caught in Diagon Alley during the war?”

Harry nodded.

“And twice you were nearly caught in the ministry headquarters ― the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and the Infiltration of the Ministry. And we all know about Godric’s Hollow.” Draco was reluctant to continue, not wanting to think about such things, but he could see it slowly clicking in Harry’s wide eyes. “He’s leaving them places he thinks you should have died.”

The realization sent a burst through Harry. He pulled the folder and began to flip through the material. A crease started to form in his brow. “That doesn’t narrow much down. I should have died in a lot of places.”

Draco didn’t like hearing that at all. There was an uncomfortable sort of lurch in his stomach.

“But you’re missing the big one,” Pansy hummed. Her eyes glittered as she peaked into the restricted file over the Auror’s shoulder. He snapped his head up. She expected to get yelled at for snooping, but instead, he was waiting for her to continue. “What happened three years ago today?”

“The Battle of Hogwarts,” Harry mumbled. “He can’t get in there, though. Not with a body. He would be caught in an instant. He knows that.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t almost caught in Knockturn Alley. It was Gringotts,” Pansy urged. “Please, you road a dragon; everyone knows about it,” she said when Harry gave her an odd look. She gestured back to the files. “He knew he would be caught there right away if he left it at the bank. He’ll likely do the same for this. He’ll go somewhere else that’s close. Somewhere it’ll be found but not right away.”

There was a beat of silence before the pair chorused, and Draco’s stomach dropped. “Hogsmeade.”

Harry began to hastily pile everything together.

“What are you doing?” Draco questioned.

Harry looked at him as though he had sprouted a second head. “I have to go to Hogsmeade. I can’t just let him kill another person.

“Fine, go tell your boss to send someone else,” Draco urged.

Harry shook his head as he shoved his things into his bag. “I’m not handing this off to just anybody, and I’m not pulling people from their families today of all days. A few of us can get it done without any problem.”

He started towards the door, grabbing his cloak off the hook. Draco followed. “You promised you’d stay with me!”

Harry stopped. His whole body had gone still, and there was great hesitation in whether or not he should look back. When he finally did look, he appeared to be in physical pain. He shook his head. “I can’t let anyone else die on this day.”

Draco wanted to argue. He wanted to stamp his foot and throw out a tantrum the same way he used to get what he wanted from his parents. He couldn’t, though, not after hearing those words. Because Draco knew after long nights of holding the other man that he blamed himself so entirely for all of the carnage of the war. If they were right, if another person was going to be killed on this day, not even heaven or hell could stop Harry Potter from trying to save them.

“Please, Harry,” Draco whimpered one last time. “Please don’t go.”

It was selfish to ask, he knew that, but this was the first time in three years that this day didn’t hurt. He couldn’t bear to be alone today of all days.

Harry’s eyes moved to Pansy somewhere behind Draco. “Take care of him.” That’s right, he wasn’t alone. What he couldn’t bear was to be without Harry that day.

She nodded curtly. “I always have.”

Harry clenched his jaw. Something in her stern gaze caused cold guilt to scratch down his back. It was as if she was guilting him for not having been around the years before, and he partly was.

He’d be back later, though. He’d find Macnair and get another dangerous criminal off the streets, then come back home to spend the evening with Draco. It would all work out.

With one last fleeting glance at the wilted man’s expression, Harry turned away and apparated out of the flat.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Pansy hummed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I could tell you really wanted to spend the day with him.”

Draco shook his head. Dread twisted itself around his heart and sunk his stomach. “He can’t help himself,” Draco mumbled. “He just won’t stop moving. He’s going to drive himself into a grave one day.”

A long sigh left Pansy’s lips as she dragged her arms around the man’s thin frame, hugging his back against her chest. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

\---

Why was Ron surprised at all? This was the reason all three of them usually spent the anniversary together. Harry said he hadn’t wanted to come around this year because he didn’t want to dampen the festivities with his mood, but Victoire was only turning one; she wouldn’t have noticed if he was a little more withdrawn than usual. Everyone would understand.

They were actually more upset that he didn’t show up. Molly had given Ron a right good smack for leaving Harry alone on such a day, but the truth was that he had gone searching for Harry, and all he found was Kreacher alone at Grimmauld.

Now he knew why. What an idiot. He couldn’t even bother to ask Ron for help?

It was that damn case. No one had to tell him. Harry had been obsessed with it before he even came in and somehow convinced Robards that it was Macnair who was doing it ― he wouldn’t even tell Ron where he’d gotten that intel from.

That stubborn jackass. He wouldn’t tell Ron who his informant was, and now he wasn’t telling him about leads? What kind of partners were they? All for what, so he wouldn’t ‘dampen the mood’? What kind of mood was Ron in now, leading his girlfriend, Harry’s other best friend, through St. Mungo's Hospital? If Harry died today, Ron would kill him.

“What happened?” Ron demanded. They had found Robards sitting in the corridor.

Robards directed a pointed glare at the door beside them. “Your partner is a head-strong idiot.”

“We know,” Ron and Hermione chorused.

The wizened wizard sighed. He turned back to the young couple, his gaze hindering on Hermione. Eventually making up his mind, he shook his head. “He found Macnair.”

“What? He’s been on the run for three years. How?”

Robards shook his head again. “I don’t know. I was with the minister when I was told he’d been found in Hogsmeade.”

“Hogsmeade? Why would he be in Hogsmeade?” Hermione prodded.

Robards shrugged. “He must have gotten a lead on Macnair being there. Whatever it was, it was right. He found him. Some of the locals found both of them knocked out in the streets after hearing some commotion, which you know is unusual. Usually, whoever made the last blow is still standing, or at least conscious.”

“There was another person then,” Ron suggested.

Robards nodded. “It’s likely, but there’s no trace of anyone else being there.” Robards massaged his neck, closing his eyes in an attempt to ease his headache. “We aren’t entirely sure what went down exactly. Macnair’s wand was broken, and you know how hard it is to get anything off a dead wand, and we don’t know if there was another person or not, so we aren’t entirely sure what Potter was hit with.

“I do know I don’t want to be here when he wakes up,” Robards went on, his eyes opening but becoming very distant. “Macnair already had his next victim with him, a girl he yanked from the next muggle town over. We’re doing our best, but it doesn’t look good for her.”

Hermione gripped Ron’s arm tighter. “At least he got Macnair,” Ron offered.

Robards slanted a look up the man. “You know him better than most. You really think that’ll be enough?”

A long sigh left Ron’s mouth. He shook his head, not able to even mutter a response. Harry got upset if an innocent got a nosebleed they didn’t have before he got there. If this girl died on this day, it would wreck him.

“They really have no idea what’s wrong with him?” Hermione urged.

Robards shook his head. “A few guesses, but you know how it is guessing with this type of stuff. The antidote to one thing could be poison for another. They’ve sent to Hogwarts for Pomfrey ― she has experience sorting out ailments after years of having kids lie to her about what’s wrong.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged. “They honestly don’t have anyone here that can help? It’s a hospital!”

“Healers are hard to come by,” Robards told her. “Good ones, even more so. Anyone can heal a few bones in a second, but the mystery cases take a long time to untangle.”

“Sir,” an Auror called their attention from behind Ron and Hermione, “the minister is requesting an update on Auror Potter.”

Robards heaved to his feet. “I suppose he is,” he sighed. “He was mid-speech when I was called out.”

“We heard,” said Ron. He could still recall the drop in temperature in the room when they had heard it over the wireless. It was as if a dementor had floated into the burrow. Kingsley was midsentence when there was suddenly a fuss behind the scenes, then someone had said a little too loudly, “Potter’s at Mungo’s.”

Robards face contorted at the realization. He closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment as he took a deep breath. “You’re right. That’s why you’re here, I presume,” he grumbled. “I guess I’ll need to come up with a statement to address that. Today is not the best day for our savior to go out and do dangerous things.”

He gestured to the room. “Send an owl if anything changes. I’ll deal with the minister and the press.”

They watched as the head of the Auror Office swept down the hall. Even exhausted, he looked like a force to be reckoned with.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” Hermione mumbled, her eyes still lingering where Robbards had just turned a corner.

Ron shook his head. “He’s too stubborn. He’ll wake up. He doesn’t know how to sit still for that long.”

Hermione shook her head, her eyes pricking. She wanted to believe him, she did. This was where it all was heading, though, wasn’t it? They’d known for some time. Their friend would either drink himself into the ground, or he’d get himself beaten there. It was like he was determined to die, like he didn’t believe he was supposed to be alive still.

“I stopped worrying about him,” she whimpered. “He looked like he was doing better. I’m supposed to notice these things.”

Ron instantly wrapped her up in a tight embrace. “I see him almost every day, ‘Mione. I stopped thinking about it too. There’s nothing we can do anyway,” he mumbled into the top of her head. “This is the one thing we can’t do with him. He has to _want_ to get better.”

She shuttered against him. He felt his shirt begin to get wet, and it only made him hold her tighter. Ron found himself conflicted. His own eyes were burning, but he wasn’t sure if he was sad or angry. Why couldn’t Harry just let them help? Why couldn’t he call Ron and ask him to come with him? Why did he insist that he do everything by himself?

“He’s waking,” called someone from the room.

They tore apart in a second then bolted for the room. They pushed past the door and found Harry had a room to himself. His face was bruised and battered and twisting into a contorted shape as he wrinkled his forehead.

They rushed to the side, nearly knocking over the healer trying to attend to him. Hermione got there first, taking Harry’s hand in hers. “He’s squeezing my hand, he’s squeezing my hand,” Hermione exclaimed. “Is that good?”

“That’s very good,” said the middle-aged witch on the other side of the cot. She hovered her wand over his head, the end budding a small, white light. “Hello, Mr. Potter. Can you hear me? Do you know what happened to you?”

A groan slipped from his lips. His head gave a little shake as he pinched his eyes tighter.

“Don’t speak if it hurts,” the witch urged. “Just move your fingers or try to open your eyes.”

He squeezed Hermione’s hand again. “Harry?” she cooed. “Harry, can you hear me?”

He began to slowly lever his eyelids open. Another groan escaped his lips.

“Harry, we’re here,” said Ron. “Do you know what happened?”

“D…”

“He’s trying to say something,” Hermione squeaked happily. They all leaned in closer, Hermione dropping down to nearly rest her ear against his chest. “It’s okay, Harry. You’re safe.”

“Dr… Draco…”


	12. Ex-Death Eater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved all of your comments from the last chapter. I was smiling at my phone like an idiot all day. I hope you all enjoy this one too.

“D…Draco…”

The room had suddenly gone very still. Even the healer stared at Harry with wide eyes. Everyone knew that name; it had been in the news long enough during the trials. The issue was debated this way and that. Everyone knew who Draco Malfoy was and what he was.

“That piece of shit,” Ron snarled. He was shaking. His fists clenched. “Of course, he was the second person.” They should have arrested him that day at his flat. He should have never been exonerated. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.

Hermione was less sure. “You really think Malfoy did this?”

“You heard, Robards. There was likely someone else with Macnair.” He gestured to Harry, whose eyes had fallen closed again but was mumbling something incoherent. “Whoever it was, did this to him. It had to have been Malfoy. Why else would Harry be saying his name? He’s naming his attacker.”

Ron started towards the door, but Hermione was right on his heels. “Didn’t you say Harry was trying to help Malfoy with some case? Why would he attack Harry if he was helping him?”

“Because it’s Malfoy,” Ron snapped. “He doesn’t know anything about loyalty. He couldn’t even be loyal to the Death Eaters. I’m not letting him get away this time!”

There was nothing else Hermione could say. The furious redhead was already stomping down the hall. She considered chasing after him, but she couldn’t leave Harry alone. She just silently hoped her boyfriend wouldn’t do anything too reckless ― it was a lot to ask.

\---

Malfoy stared at the clock. If Macnair hadn’t done it by now, then he likely wouldn’t do it at all. He would want the body to be found on the anniversary day; that wouldn’t happen if he waited too late.

Either nothing had happened, or they found him and were in the process of arresting him. It was probably just taking longer because there weren’t many people at the ministry. Harry would be back at home any minute, and everything would be fine.

Pansy had left about an hour ago. She’d been reluctant to go before Harry got back, but Draco knew she had work in the morning. She at least promised to stop by her office and peek in to see if Harry was back yet. He hoped that no news was good news. Harry was probably on his way home at that moment, and she didn’t feel the need to message him.

There was a knock on the door.

Draco leaped from the sofa. He didn’t even hesitate to go to the door. It had to be Harry ― he probably picked up dinner on the way home.

Draco threw the door open. His smile fell. His whole body shuttered.

Ron Weasley stood before him. His face was just as red as his hair with his wand clenched in his white knuckles. “Of course, you’re an arrogant enough prick to just come back here like nothing happened,” Ron spat.

Following his first instinct, Draco attempted to shut the door, but Ron shoved past. Draco stumbled into the table beside the door, sending all of the papers falling to the ground. “I knew Harry shouldn’t have helped you get out of Azkaban.”

Ron yanked Draco up by the collar of his shirt. Draco feverishly reached for his pockets but found them empty. In the corner of his eye, he could see his wand lying on the coffee table.

“All you’ve ever done is cause us trouble. You aren’t worth saving. You never have been. What you used to call Hermione, what you would say about my family.” Ron’s fists tightened. “You let the Death Eaters into the castle. You housed Voldemort. You might have gotten sympathy from Harry, but you aren’t getting it from me.

“No, you’re gonna pay. You’re gonna pay for all of that, and you’re gonna pay for what you’ve done to Harry.” Ron released one hand only to shove his wand in Draco’s face. However, he hesitated when the fear in Draco’s eyes abruptly changed.

His twisted expression morphed into something else. It was a different kind of fear, not for himself but for someone else. “What’s happened to Harry?”

Ron shoved at the other man, smashing Draco’s head against the mirror behind him. “As if you don’t know!” he bellowed. “He’s lying unconscious in St. Mungo’s because of you.”

“What?” Draco exclaimed, the panic in his eyes increasing tenfold. “You have to take me to him, please.” He tried to push Ron off, but Auror training had served to make Ron a lot stronger than he used to be. Without a wand, Draco had no chance.

“Why the hell would I take you to him when you’re the one who put him there?”

“Put him there?” Draco repeated. Of course, that’s what they’d assume. Draco had to be the source of all the bad things that happened. It was always his fault. “I didn’t do anything to him!” he snapped. “It was Macnair, not me.”

Ron’s face was now turning blue with rage. “How do you even know that Macnair was there? That isn’t public information.”

“Because Harry told me about the case!”

“Like hell he did. I know you think I’m an idiot, but I’m not that gullible, Malfoy. Why would he ever come to you?”

“Because he’s- We’re-” What was Draco even supposed to say about them? Not only was saying they were simply friends an understatement, but Ron would have no reason to believe his words? He’d have to show him.

Draco looked around the flat frantically until his eyes came across the papers that had fallen onto the ground. He pointed at them. “Look, if I was trying to kill him, then would I have his letters?”

Ron was reluctant to look away from Draco. He intended to only glance down, but his attention became stuck on Harry’s name addressed on the letter. Ron shook his head and snapped his eyes back to Draco. “You probably stole his post so you could keep tabs on him. You wouldn’t be the first.”

This was such a waste of time. Why couldn’t Ron just let him go so he could see Harry?

Draco pointed at the kitchen across from them. “Why are there goblets and saucepans with the Black family crest from Grimmauld drying in my kitchen?”

Ron followed his gesture to the cookware, but his hand tightened on Draco's collar. “Your mother was a Black. It’s not that farfetched that she’d give you some of her old things. Besides, Mundungus stole a bunch from Grimmauld, and you seem like the type to buy off a mangy guy like that.”

Draco scoffed, shaking his head. “You really don’t want to believe me, huh?” His tight jaw twitched under the pressure of his bite. He really didn’t want to show Ron more. It felt like such an invasion of privacy, but he’d do whatever if he could see Harry. “Let me go, and I’ll show you more proof, then you have to take me to Harry.”

Ron gritted his teeth. This seemed ridiculous. There was no way Harry was friends with Draco ― or whatever this was.

After years of being around Hermione, he knew that truth outweighed his opinion. He released Draco and took a step back.

Draco glared at him as he dusted himself off. “This way,” he grumbled and started towards the bedroom. Ron followed up until the doorway, when he realized what room they were going into. What kind of proof was in here?

He watched as Draco pulled open the drawers of his dresser. “Do you think I’m stealing his clothes too?” He went to the wardrobe and threw open the doors. “What about his Auror uniform? Do I have some evil mastermind plan for that? Does it require his toothbrush because that’s in the bathroom too?”

Draco was trembling with frustration. “I would never hurt him, so, please, take me to him.”

Ron’s feet were rooted to the ground. He didn’t know what to think because he could see two toothbrushes in the bathroom, and he recognized his mother’s knitting in the drawer. He scanned the room, looking for anything else that might possibly explain what was going on. His eyes caught sight of a red book on one of the bedside tables. A cold wave rolled over him.

He knew what the book was already. He knew that Harry would never go anywhere without it and that he wouldn’t leave it with anyone he didn’t trust. Nevertheless, Ron crossed the room and flipped it open. He opened it to a photo of a man and woman holding a baby, the same one he’d seen Harry stare at a hundred times in the middle of the night in their dormitory. A page over was a photo of Harry, Ron, and Hermione nearly a decade ago now. What really chilled Ron was the photo on the page across from it. This one only had two people in it; two laughing faces squished together as they tried to get into the frame together. It was Harry and Draco.

His eyes snapped over to Draco. Ron’s face was still twisted in miffed disgust, but he shut the book. “Come on.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

Warm joy began to pump through Draco’s body. He grabbed his coat and followed Ron to the door. Ron walked straight out, barely waiting for him, and started down the hall. Draco was nearly so distracted that he did the same – _nearly_.

He stopped at the open doorway as if a shield charm had been put up. The warmth in his chest became hot, and his muscles tensed, his lungs suddenly beginning to burn too hot to get a good breath.

This was the first time in ages he was leaving the house without Harry at his side. Not only that, but he was going to a high-traffic, wizarding place. People would certainly recognize him. People would undoubtedly hate him.

“Are you coming?” Ron barked. “I wanna be there when he wakes up.”

Yeah, Malfoy wanted to be there when he woke up, too. He stepped over the threshold and out the door.

He would get to see Harry soon.

\---

“No press,” Robards voice could be heard before they rounded the corner.

When he got into a view, they found another person with him. Pansy stood with a quill and a pad of paper in her hand, a firm glare in her eyes.

“What’s going on?” Ron questioned.

The pair turned their heads, and Pansy’s face instantly lit up. Her tense frame relaxed, and she crossed her arms. “Look at that,” she hummed through a smirk, “you two must have some sort of psychic link. I was just about to message you.”

“What are you doing here?” Ron snapped as he stomped down the hall, almost a meter ahead of Draco.

Pansy shrugged. “I forgot something at the office,” she tossed a wink at Draco, “and I heard about Potter. My editor asked me to get the inside scoop.”

“And I said no press,” Robards spat, blocking the doorway. “You can wait for my formal announcement like everyone else.”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously, I knew that would be your answer. That was just my excuse to get some info for my friend, but clearly, he’ll soon have more information than I do.” She smiled at Draco, who gave a gracious nod. Pansy might be a gossip loving bitch, but she knew how to watch out for her friends.

She entirely ignored Ron’s glare and stepped past him to kiss Draco’s cheek. “Do you want me to stay?”

Draco glanced at the fuming redhead and his brooding boss. He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

Pansy nodded. She looked back at Ron. “If you hurt him while Harry isn’t looking, I will make it my career’s ambition to bury you.”

Ron scoffed but didn’t say anything else to her, which was satisfactory enough for her to leave. Silence lingered in her wake.

Ron only turned to Robards once she was out of sight around the corner. “I brought him because-”

Robards waved his hand. “Miss Granger told me. I’m glad you didn’t kill him. I sort of need him.”

“Need him?” Ron repeated. “For what?”

The Head Auror glanced at Draco, asking for permission. It wouldn’t be that hard to put the pieces together now. Even a Weasley wasn’t that dense. Draco nodded. “He’s Harry’s informant,” Robards explained.

Ron’s mouth fell open. His eyes darted between the two men before landing resolutely back on his boss. “You mean you knew about this, too? Am I the only one who didn’t?”

“I asked Harry not to tell anyone,” Draco spoke up. He didn’t want to get Harry’s best friend even more upset with him. “I didn’t want people like Macnair finding out.”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “Why does it matter if I know then? Unlike some people, I’m not exactly chummy with many ex-Death Eaters.”

Draco’s gaze dropped to his feet. It was a bit disconcerting for Ron, just as it had been for Harry. He was so used to the feisty blond fighting back.

“Hey,” Robards scolded, “if more of you would get a little chummy, maybe we’d get some more of the crazy ones like Macnair off the streets. His information was good. Don’t go chasing off my informants.”

“His information put Harry in the hospital!”

“No, Potter’s super can-do attitude put him in there. If he wasn’t such a stubborn arse to think he can do everything alone, he’d be fine.”

“Alone?” Draco frowned. “He told me he would get back up.”

Ron scoffed. “Do you think I would have come after you if there were other people there to witness what happened?”

“Probably.”

Ron rolled his eyes. Draco looked back at Robards. “He didn’t have any help?”

“No one knew about it until he and Macnair were found unconscious in the streets of Hogsmeade.” Robards glanced at the door behind him. “It’s not the first time he’s been this reckless. It’s just the first time it’s caught up with him.”

The old Draco sparked in his irises ― or at least the old determination he always seemed to have. He glared so hard at the door that Robards shifted uncomfortably, feeling too close to his gaze. “Can I see him now?” Draco asked in a slow, even voice.

Robards gave a stiff nod and moved out of the way. Upon entering, Draco’s anger momentarily subsided. His chest tightened instantly. He could feel his eyes pricking. He couldn’t believe he let Harry walk out the door that day.

It was hard to tell if Harry was even awake until a smile, which was more like a grimace, tugged on his bruised face. “Hey,” his voice was like gravel. It made it hard for Draco to maintain his anger. Hard but not impossible.

“You arsehole!” Draco hissed.

“Wha-”

“You went alone?” exclaimed Draco. Harry cringed into the cot. He had been severely hoping that would be glossed over. Draco stomped up to the injured man and smacked his leg, causing Harry to wince back in pain. “You went after that maniac all alone, and look what happened! Did you have a mental break?”

“Please be gentle. He’s still healing,” said the healer who was eyeing Draco with discontent.

He didn’t care. “If this idiot had listened to me earlier, then he wouldn’t be here at all. He’s not getting out of it a second time.”

The healer looked to Ron for help. He started to step forward, but Harry put up a hand. “No, he’s right, I deserve it.” His eyes focused back on Draco, instantly softening with his voice. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione and Ron became slack-jawed. Sorry wasn’t a word that Harry _never_ said, but he never said it _correctly_. He always apologized for things he didn’t need to apologize for. If he caused any small inconvenience, he would apologize profusely. But the big stuff, like throwing his life around like it was worth less than a knut, he would never say sorry for ― even if it did feel like it was shorting all of his friends’ lifespans by at least ten years.

Draco’s face was still wrinkled with the intent of continuing to look annoyed, but his gaze had also softened. “You’re an idiot,” he grumbled under his breath.

Harry attempted another smile, this one wider but appearing just as painful. “I know.” He made a pathetic attempt at stretching his arm to reach the other man. Draco sighed and moved closer until Harry was able to touch his wrist. He pinched Draco’s sleeve, using only the tips of his fingers to play with the frayed ends of the sweater that resulted from Draco’s constant picking.

To Ron’s great relief, he didn’t have to watch this scene for much longer. The door opened again, and Robards came in, a younger Auror behind him. “We found Carrow.”

“Carrow?” Ron repeated. His eyes darted between the three Auror’s in the room. Had he missed something while he was gone?

Harry nodded. “That’s who attacked me: Alecto Carrow. I didn’t even notice her until it was too late.” Harry’s eyes snapped up to Draco’s face. He could feel him suddenly tense. “What’s wrong?”

Draco’s lip trembled as he spoke. “I should have known,” he said, barely audible. He looked down at Harry. “Her brother was killed during the battle. She came to the manor sometime after our trials trying to persuade us to help her get revenge. That was when my mother decided to leave, she didn’t want anything to do with any Death Eaters anymore, and she didn’t like that they knew where to find us. Carrow must have found Macnair and convinced him to help her.”

Draco’s face was twisted as he looked down at the injured man he’d become so reliant on. So this actually was Draco’s fault. He should have figured that out. He should have warned Harry. “I’m sorry. I should have realized, I…” He shook his head rapidly.

Harry grabbed his wrist and gave it a weak squeeze. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. We didn’t even know we were looking for two people. They’re both in custody now. That’s what matters, right?”

Draco nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. Harry wanted to hug him, but the throbbing in his skull told him not to sit up ― that and the many watchful eyes in the room. He could feel Ron’s burning stare boiling against his skin.

He gave Draco’s wrist another squeeze and began to brush a circle into his palm with his thumbnail, all the while looking at the other occupants of the room and speaking to keep the attention off the movement. “Is there anything new on the girl?”

Robards’ eyes grew dark. He shook his head. “Nothing good. She’s still hanging on, but barely.”

Harry abruptly forgot about his comfort of Draco and the acute pain in his temple. He started to struggle with his covers, trying to get to his feet. “I want to see her.”

Everyone began to flap around him, trying to get him to lie back down. Hermione and Draco each grabbed a hand and held him down. “You can’t move,” the healer spoke urgently. “You’re too weak. We’re still not entirely sure what you were hit with. You could faint if you move too much.”

“I don’t care, I just want to see her. Maybe- I don’t know, maybe if I see her, I’ll remember something that’ll help.”

“You said she was already unconscious when you got there,” Robards argued. “They apparated her to Hogsmeade after attacking her. There’s nothing you can do.”

“No, no.” He pulled out of Hermione’s grasp. “I’m not letting anyone else die today.”

Once again, Harry’s words had caused everyone to go still. Everyone except for Draco. He was used to hearing these types of thoughts from Harry. It didn’t frighten him or make him feel sad; he just knew he needed help.

Draco grabbed both of his arms and pushed him back into the cot. “You’re staying here,” he demanded.

Harry tried to push against him. “I’m not-”

“I’ll go check on her,” Draco huffed. “You are staying right here and getting rest. You escaped serious injury once tonight, don’t tempt fate. Your health matters too, you know.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment. Typically, Ron would have scoffed at anyone trying such a thing on Harry, but he was repeatedly being surprised today. Once again, Harry acted contrary to his usual, stubborn character and eased into the cot. “Okay.”

He looked to the healer who was still watching him warily. “Can you take him to her?”

The witch appraised Draco, her face scrunching mildly. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea either.” She looked back to Harry and found such a dark glare that her blood ran cold. “But we can bring him by for a second if you’ll stay in bed while I’m gone.”

The look out of the corner of Draco’s eye held the same warning. Harry nodded. “I will.”

The healer had her lips pursed and tried to avoid eye-contact as she passed Draco. “Auror Robards, I have a few more questions about what happened.”

His brow creased. “Shouldn’t you be asking the patient?” She darted her eyes in Draco’s direction, urgency in her irises. He heaved a sigh but relented nonetheless. “Okay, I’ll walk with you then.”

“Come on,” she chirped, suddenly sounding a little more upbeat. “She’s just down the hall.”

With a final squeeze, Harry let Draco go to join the small parade out of the room. However, the ex-Death Eater’s absence didn’t expel the tension in the room. Hermione had been looking at Harry oddly ever since he woke up, and she told him where Ron had gone, forcing him to admit to the truth. Ron was also looking at him, but it wasn’t the bewildered concern of Hermione’s gaze; he was just angry.

“Okay, let me have it,” Harry sighed.

Ron perked up. “Oh, are we actually going to address this? I figured you were just going to keep lying to us and acting like nothing is going on.”

“I never lied to you,” Harry snapped. His shoulders fell. “I just…didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“Right, because that’s so much better!”

“Guys, please, let’s not do this right now,” Hermione urged. “Harry should rest.”

“No, we’ll need to have this conversation sooner or later,” said Harry. “We should have it now.”

His words only served to infuriate Ron more because of how mature he sounded. Ron couldn’t remember the last time Harry had chosen to actually talk something out the moment that it became an issue. It was so unlike him, and Ron just couldn’t face the reason why he was suddenly growing more mature.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ron urged. “You don’t look like you’ve been imperiused. Is it a potion? You can’t actually be friends with Draco Malfoy ― or whatever the fuck this is. I mean I’ve seen the flat. Do you pay for rent there too?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to get into all of that now. “It’s a long story, but he really isn’t as horrible as we all thought. He’s been through a lot, too,” Harry raised his voice when Ron scoffed loudly. “I don’t see any reason I can’t be friends with him.”

“He’s a Death Eater!”

“Not anymore.”

"You said it yourself, Harry. There's no such thing as an ex-Death Eater, just one's that were too slippery to be caught."

"Malfoy's different."

"How?" Ron threw his hands in the air.

"Because he is! That's why I testified for him."

Ron scoffed again. "Yeah, trust me, no one's forgotten about that."

Harry’s blood had been steadily heating up until it was now at a low simmer. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he spoke darkly.

"It means he is a bloody git, and you know it,” Ron snapped without remorse. “All those years in school when he used to torment us, say foul things to Hermione.” Hermione cringed at the mention of it. “Are we all just supposed to sweep that under the rug like it never happened?"

"No, but he is sorry for it."

"Really? Because I've never heard those words come out of his mouth, and I know Hermione hasn't."

"Fine, I'll get him to apologize."

"No, it's too late for that. He picked his side ages ago. He housed and fed Voldemort, the man who killed hundreds, including your family."

"I know," Harry hissed.

"And yet you’re still defending him?"

"It wasn't his fault! He was just trying to stay alive. He regrets it."

"Yeah, well, regret isn't going to bring anyone back, is it?"

"Malfoy didn't kill Fred!" The second the words came out of his mouth, Harry knew he’d gone too far. This was not the day to say that name.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded.

Ron was shaking with rage. “Fuck you,” he spoke with measured control. Not wasting another breath, Ron turned out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Hermione said. She started towards the door and was halfway out when she paused. She looked back at Harry. Her brow was furrowed, and her mouth hung open, but she appeared to quickly reconsider her thoughts and darted out of the room after her boyfriend.

Suddenly, Harry deeply regretted sending Draco away. He could feel the dread already beginning to claw at his chest. What had he just done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I love Ron. It always bothers me when writers make him into such a jerk about Draco and Harry's relationship to the point where I stop reading sometimes. That isn't what's happening here. People are still bitter about the war. There is bound to be tension, and it has to be worked through before anyone can move forward.


	13. Why Him

"...Will you share your soul with me?  
Unzip your skin and let me have a see  
Paint me in trust  
I'll be your best friend  
Call me the one  
This night just can't end..."

― _Human_ by Dodie 

Hermione somehow managed to coax Ron back into Harry’s room, but he remained silent in the corner ― lent against the wall with his arms crossed as he stared with a permanent glare out the window. There was still some hesitation in the woman, but she came to Harry’s bedside nonetheless. She was updating him on her newest attempts to gain wages for house-elves when the door opened again.

“I have never seen anything like that,” spoke the familiar voice of Harry’s attending healer. She sounded far more joyful than she had thus far, which was even more surprising when Harry saw who she was walking in with. The Aurors had gone, and all that was left was Draco strolling in at her side. Whatever praise she was giving him, he was eating it up with a poor attempt at a humble smile.

Harry sat up, dismissing Hermione’s nagging and the pain in his abdomen. “How is she?”

The healer smiled brightly, clasping her hands together. “She’ll be making a full recovery.”

“Really?” Ron straightened from his corner. “But I thought there was nothing else you could do.”

The witch nodded vigorously. “There wasn’t, or we didn’t think anything else could be done until Mr. Malfoy showed up.” She patted the man’s arm. “He knew exactly what to do. It was astonishing.”

“It’s easy when the weapon they used was stolen from your family’s collection,” Draco sighed. When he saw Harry’s frown, he explained, “It was an old ritualistic dagger that poisons and incapacitates the victim. It’s an uncommon poison, but it is curable with the right antidote and counter-curse. Carrow or Macnair must have stolen it from the manor.”

“Well, isn’t that just a lovely thing to have laying around your house?” Ron grumbled. He slouched back again, his eyes returning to the window.

“My father collects dark objects. Not to be used,” he assured quickly upon seeing the sharp look on Ron’s face, “only to be appreciated for the complicated spell work. I studied a lot of it when I was younger. That dagger, in particular, always interested me. It is extremely complex work and nearly impossible to undo unless you know it well.”

Ron pushed off the wall. “Well, that doesn’t sound like something that should be on the streets. Someone should inform Robards.”

He was already halfway to the door before Hermione could rush anything out of her mouth, “Ronald, please."

He snapped his head back, his brow still furrowed. “He’s clearly okay,” he gestured to where Harry was sitting up in the cot, “and he has his new mate to keep him company. We aren’t needed anymore.”

“He’s still our friend; of course, he needs us,” Hermione urged.

Ron shook his head, turning forward again. “You can stay if you want, ‘Mione. I’m not telling you what to do,” his eyes skimmed over Draco, who was trying very hard not to meet his blazing gaze, “but I can’t be here.”

Without waiting for her to make a decision, he marched out of the room. Harry could see that she was going to try to talk him back, but there was no point. He reached for her hand, slowing her. “It’s okay, ‘Mione,” he assured. “You tried.”

She opened her mouth but shut it just as quickly. Inner conflict raged in her eyes as she looked back to the door that Ron had just gone out. She appeared ready to chase after him, but her gaze suddenly flicked to Draco. She remained planted in her spot. She didn’t want to leave Harry alone with him; Draco could see it in the way she shifted on her feet. Going or staying. Trust Draco or not.

Finally, she returned to the chair she’d been sitting in beside Harry and clasped his hand more tightly. “He’s just going to the office. He doesn’t need me.”

Harry gave her hand a small squeeze, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit disappointed. The strange atmosphere in the room was smothering him. He wanted Hermione and Draco to be okay with being in the same room together, but he knew that moment wasn’t now ― and he honestly wanted to be alone with Draco.

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t turn down her company. With his hand still in hers, he turned his head back towards Draco. “So, does this mean you’re some big shot healer now?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, I just had some extra knowledge. I’m no healer.”

“Don’t start being humble now ― it doesn’t suit you,” Harry teased, making Draco’s cheeks flush. “And you’re always healing me. If I had been conscious, I would have apparated to you.”

Draco’s face relaxed with over-exaggerated relief as he started to make his way to the cot. “Thank Merlin, you were out. You’re a horrible patient. You always try to pretend like you aren’t in pain.”

“Tell me about it,” muttered the healer. “Speaking of, you’re due for another checkup.” Draco instantly moved out of her way to allow her access to her patient, but she hesitated upon nearing, an assessing gaze running over Draco. “Do you know the examination spell?”

Draco shook his head. Most of the injuries he’d ever dealt with had an apparent source. During a war, people usually chose in favor of the quickest and most effective spells to impede their attacker, forgetting how much damage it actually caused. As a result, Draco could do a blood replenishment charm in seconds.

She gestured him closer as she pulled out her wand. “If you’re going to continue taking care of this one, then I suggest you learn it. Come here.”

The healer walked Draco through the incantation and what to look for. Harry couldn’t shake off the clumsy smile creeping on his face the whole time. He felt like a practice dummy.

She gave Draco a chance to practice, and the determined Draco that Harry loved watching made a reappearance. As with anything else, he wanted to do it perfectly. His brow was furrowed with intense concentration. After his third time of not getting the same read that the witch had gotten, he yanked up his sleeves and tried again.

Harry’s smile faltered.

A dark stain marked Draco’s left forearm. He couldn’t get a good look at it, but it appeared less detailed than it had once been before. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before on countless others that he’d put away. He remembered faintly that the Dark Marks he had seen during the war were usually only well-defined when the owner used it to call upon their master or if _he_ was near. Harry was tempted to reach out and touch it, wanting to see if mere touch redefined it as well.

In all this time, Harry had never really seen the mark before. He had noticed it in small moments, when Draco did the dishes or when he would reach for something, and his sleeve would pull back a little. Harry never pondered it long. If he was honest, he tried to push the thought out of his head entirely. He never wanted to ruin a moment between them, even a casual one. Besides, Draco always wore long sleeves, even to bed. It was easy to forget.

“That’s it,” praised the healer. “Did you feel that? The low vibration here,” she hovered her hand over Harry’s abdomen, “it’s internal bruising. It’s not too concerning for now, but it is painful, and it’s good to keep an eye on it.”

Draco nodded along, concentrated on taking in her knowledge. However, upon following the movement of her hand, he noticed Harry’s gaze. He tensed instantly. Harry wasn’t the only one who saw. Hermione was also staring, her grip tightening on Harry’s hand. Draco hurried to pull down his sleeves.

“Well, am I going to live, Doc?” Harry joked in an attempt to ease the sudden tension.

“Don’t compare me to those muggle butchers,” the woman remarked, “it’s Healer Sow, and yes, you’ll be fine. However, I want to keep you here overnight for observation. It’s just a precaution.”

“Fine, but can I get some parchment and a quill. I need to send an owl to Robards.” Abruptly, each of the other occupants in the room began to protest, their voices layering on top of one another. “What? You just said I was fine.”

Sow rolled her eyes. “I said you’ll live, not that you’ll be going back to work anytime soon.”

“But-”

Everyone prepared to object again, but Draco spoke first. “Your internal organs are bruised, and no one has any idea what spell was actually used against you. You can take off work for a little while until we know you’re okay.”

There was an argument in Harry’s eyes, but he never verbalized it. A pout formed on his lips, but he kept them closed. Hermione was astonished. She wished Harry listened to her that quickly. She wasn’t about to bring it up, though, in case Harry saw it as a reason to attempt to argue again.

“Well, it looks like you’re in good hands here,” said Sow, her eyes dancing with amusement as she glanced at Draco’s stern expression. She patted his arm as she passed. “I’ll be back for rounds in an hour.”

After the witch’s departure, Harry was left all alone with Draco and Hermione. Everyone could feel the strangeness of this situation. The uneasy air clung to their skin and choked their throats, making it hard to speak past.

“Oh!” Hermione broke the stiff silence. “I heard from Luna. She still hasn’t found a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but she still sounds very positive about it. Honestly, I hope she doesn’t get her hopes up too high. There is almost no proof those exist.”

“It’s Luna. She's always positive,” Harry reminded, a crooked smile climbing his mouth. “Maybe you shouldn't be so pessimistic. She did find an actual Squonk, though I don’t know if finding it really did anyone any favors. Aunt Marge is prettier than that thing, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

Hermione tried to cover her laugh but failed. Harry smiled with her. It was a nice sound to hear. Anytime he saw her anymore, she seemed incredibly stressed, and Harry getting hurt couldn’t have helped that any.

They spoke for a while longer. Draco stayed silent for most of it, remaining leaned against the other side of the cot.

If one only looked at his face, he or she would assume that Harry was ignoring Draco. He kept the conversation going with Hermione without pause. However, in the corner of his eye, Harry was extremely aware of Draco’s hypervigilance.

Harry spotted the way Draco turned his head at every slight movement which went past the door. Without so much as looking at him, Harry slid his hand over Draco’s where it was rested on the side of the bed; he massaged small circles into the back of his palm, silently imploring him to relax. It worked to some degree, but he remained quite tense.

When Sow returned an hour later, she coaxed Draco into helping her again. As they worked, Harry noticed Hermione checking the clock. “You can go home, I’ll be okay,” he assured her. “I’m sure Ron will be home by now.”

There was a moment when he thought she would take his offer, but her eyes darted to Draco. She shook her head. “No, no, I’m okay here.”

“Visiting hours are almost over anyway,” Sow spoke up. “I’m afraid only family members can stay the night. Your friend needs his rest, but you’re welcome to come back first thing in the morning when visiting hours start again at eight.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose you’re right,” Hermione sighed. The concern in her eyes when she looked back at Harry made him squirm. She squeezed his arm one last time before finally getting up. “I’ll be back with Ron tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to force him to come if he doesn’t want to.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “He wants to be here for you. He’s just being stubborn. I’ll talk to him.”

Harry nodded. He hoped she was right. He really hated being in fights with his best friend. It always brought up bitter memories from their time in school. “Sorry for always putting you in the middle of things, ‘Mione.”

She shrugged, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “You two share one brain cell. Someone has to show you how to use it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco stifled a laugh, which earned him a quick glare from the man he was supposed to be helping examine.

“Night, ‘Mione.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” She gave the healer a pleasant smile. “Have a good evening, Healer Sow.” The healer returned the regard just as politely. Hermione’s eyes moved to Draco next.

He stood very still, focusing intensely on how Sow was moving her wand as if hoping doing so would make him blend into his surroundings. However, Hermione’s prolonged gaze finally got the better of him, and he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. There was conflict on her visage ― she’d been debating if she should even address him ― finally, she settled for a firm nod. Draco returned it.

They finished up the examination, and Healer Sow declared Harry in good health. Draco was hoping it would take a little longer or that she’d want to show him something else, but it appeared there was no other excuse for him to stay. “I should go home, too, then,” Draco sighed.

Harry’s face fell. “It’s not time yet, right?” Harry urged, glancing at Sow.

“Well,” she looked at the clock, “it will be in about fifteen minutes.” She watched as both young men became incredibly deflated. “You know, the definition of family can be very grey… I overheard someone saying you two live together, is that right?”

Harry’s first instinct was to deny this, but who was he trying to kid? He only went to Grimmauld about three times a week and usually for an hour at the longest. “Yes.”

“I can reasonably classify that as family,” she said. “Besides, my shift is ending soon, and I would feel a lot better if I knew someone was here who won’t give in to your complaining.” She jabbed an accusatory finger in Harry’s direction.

“I don’t complain,” Harry attempted to defend himself. He never complained. He just didn’t like people fussing over him when it wasn’t necessary.

She crossed her arms and looked down at him over the end of her nose. “Fine, Mr. Malfoy will have to leave then.”

“No, no,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “I’m a horrible patient. All I do is piss and moan.”

“Then we’ll need someone who knows how to accommodate you,” she declared. She looked at Draco. “As long as that’s okay with you? I understand if you were looking forward to a night off.”

Harry scoffed, but his eyes became wide when Draco feigned consideration. His brow crinkled, and he tapped his chin in thought. “I guess I can stay,” he sighed like he’d finally been knocked down into persuasion.

A grin split across his face when he saw Harry gaping up at him.

“Very well, I’ll get a second cot set up.” She pulled out her wand again and transfigured the chair that Hermione had been sitting on into another cot. “Someone will be doing rounds around midnight. I’ll let them know you’ll be having an overnight visitor. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

After a brief farewell to the healer, Draco went around to the other cot. He toed off his shoes then climbed into the small, stiff bed. “You owe me for this, Harry. This is horribly uncomfortable.”

Harry chuckled. “Mine isn’t so bad. Do you want to share?”

In an instant, Draco’s face blossomed pink. He twisted his face into a sneer and attempted to ignore his pounding heart as he started to beat the pillow under his head into softness. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What? It feels strange that there’s a big space between us, don’t you think?”

Draco glanced at the gap between their beds. It wasn’t as if they slept with their backs pressed together every night, but they were usually, at the very least, at arm’s reach. It was this knowledge that typically kept the nightmares at moderate ease. “Yeah, I guess so.”

This was all the permission he needed. Harry pulled his wand from the bedside table on his other side and performed a wordless summoning charm, pulling Draco’s bed from across the room until it bumped up against his.

Draco stared at him with wide eyes as he put his wand back. “You’re insane, do you know that? How many painkillers are you on?”

Harry scoffed aloud. “Ron and Hermione would never let them give me painkillers. They think I’d get addicted.”

Draco frowned. “Why would they think that?”

Harry had meant for his comment to be offhanded and not analyzed. He was so used to everyone else around him already whispering about it behind his back that he never bothered addressing it. “They think I’m an alcoholic.”

“What? You barely drink.” Draco tried to think of a time when he remembered Harry ever drinking around the flat. They had wine a few times a week, but it was usually only one bottle that they shared.

Harry shrugged. “I have a little at Grimmauld every once in a while, but it’s never much. I just haven’t felt the urge to lately. I told them it was ridiculous.”

_Yes, it was really ridiculous_ , Draco thought.

"Healer Sow seems to like you," Harry mused, changing the subject.

"I think she just didn't like the healer who was attending to that girl. I may have made him look like an idiot."

Harry chuckled. "Why am I not surprised?"

Draco shrugged. "I had to. He was pushing sedation potions on her to ease the pain, but it was only speeding up the processes. Honestly, someone like that shouldn't even be practicing."

"I thought you said it was a difficult poison to catch if you didn't know it well."

Draco shook his head. "It was clearly the result of a cursed object, though. Sedation is seldom the answer for that. Your body is so weak from fighting off the curse, sedating it will likely put you in a coma."

"Well, have you ever considered being a healer, yourself?"

Draco snorted. "Please, who would want to be healed by Draco Malfoy?"

"I would."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're crazy though, we’ve established this." Harry made a face that Draco mostly ignored, with the exception of the twist in the corner of his mouth. "No one else would want an ex-Death Eater anywhere near them."

"I have a feeling if they're dying and you're the best chance they've got, they'd put up less of a fight."

Draco shook his head. "Every time I've ever healed someone, it's only caused more damage."

"What do you mean?"

His gaze became glazed and distant. "If I hadn't healed half of those people who showed up at the manor, a lot of other people wouldn't have been killed. I saved lives but only so they could take another. I’m sure a lot of your friends died that day because of what I did.”

And suddenly, several things about Draco made sense to Harry. All of his self-loathing, all of his anxiety, his willingness to take the blame, it all came from this. The one time Draco had attempted to do something genuinely selfless had backfired and had the opposite effect. It was like casting spells with a broken wand only Draco thought he was what was broken.

“You did what you thought was right. You saved people. You aren’t to blame for what they did afterward,” Harry urged.

Draco began to pick at his left sleeve. “I knew what they were capable of. I knew what would happen. I knew what they were all doing. I was just too much of a coward to speak up. Your friends have a right to be mad at me still. I took the mark; I should take responsibility.”

Harry’s eyes darted to the arm that rested between them, his right hand pulling at the frayed strands of his sweater. Harry reached out across the beds. Draco became very alert, watching his hand closely. He instantly recoiled when Harry began to pull on his sleeve, but Harry didn’t let him get far. He held tightly onto Draco’s wrist. Their eyes locked.

There was a silent plea on Draco’s face. Harry remained as obstinate as ever. His brow was furrowed, his green irises demanding as if he was saying, _just trust me._

Draco relented. He eased his arm, and Harry gradually loosened his grip. When it seemed that Draco wouldn’t pull away again, Harry resumed pulling down his sleeve.

Every muscle in Draco’s body was tight. He rather cut off his arm than watch Harry’s reaction when he saw it. In the end, he settled for squeezing his eyes shut.

There was no audible reaction ― not even a gasp. It left Draco wondering if Harry was still there at all, but he had to be; he could still feel his hand on the crease of his elbow. He levered one eye open.

To Draco’s great shock, there was no malice or sorrow on the other man’s face. He simply looked concentrated. As if he was a healer, himself, examining a wound.

It wasn’t far off. Harry had seen a few Dark Marks since the war, but none this close. It looked like an aged muggle tattoo that hadn’t been well cared for, sun damage and age smudging and stretching it.

Harry remembered seeing it almost come to life when the owner touched it with their wand. He wondered if it would do that by touching it with his finger. Could he feel the snake beneath his skin, withered and dead?

Not able to curb his curiosity, Harry pressed a finger over the snake’s head. Draco flinched.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked. Concern was in his voice. It only made Draco more uneasy, but he shook his head.

Harry’s gaze returned to the mark and began to smooth his finger over the shape. It felt just as smooth as the rest of his skin. With one trace around the mark, Draco felt his muscles ease a fraction. Harry did it again, and he relaxed a little more. Again. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut.

Harry traced the shape of the mark a few more times before lightly brushing his calloused fingertips over the length of his forearm. A few times, his touch went up into Draco’s palm, the skin there feeling surprisingly sensitive, before going back down his arm again. It caused a shutter to run through Draco’s body.

When Harry’s fingers lingered over his own, Draco slowly opened his eyes. He could see the thought process in Harry’s eyes. Deciding to relieve his struggle, Draco began to curl his fingers around Harry’s. Their fingers slowly entwined.

Draco stared at their hands. Harry stared at Draco.

Harry’s voice was low and coarse, almost sounding how he did when he first woke up. “Not everything is your fault.” Draco’s face pinched. “But you’re only letting _him_ win again by allowing this to control your life.”

Draco’s lip was trembling. He squeezed Harry’s hand, who returned the gesture. “You’re a good man. You just have to believe it yourself.”

“Harry?” Draco croaked out.

“Hm?”

Draco finally tore his eyes off of their hands to meet the other man’s gaze. His eyes glistened, his grey irises appearing like melted silver. It knocked the breath of Harry’s lungs. “Don’t walk out like that again, please. I don’t have anyone else,” he whimpered. “You, Mother, and Pansy, that’s it. The rest left me or died, and the ones who died probably would have left, too. No one wants to be friends with a Malfoy who’s fallen from grace.”

Draco could feel his voice beginning to fail him, but he kept on, cringing at how it cracked. “When Weasley showed up and said…” He couldn’t even bear to finish his sentence. The dread he had felt echoed in his chest and caused a tremble down his spine. “I can’t…”

Harry squeezed his hand once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Everything in Draco wanted to believe that, but somewhere deep down, he knew he couldn’t be so sure. So he decided to hold onto what he had for now. With their fingers intertwined and the Dark Mark on full view, they both eventually faded off into sleep.

\---

“We heard the good news,” Hermione’s voice entered the room before she did. She appeared a moment after. To Harry’s surprise, Ron was in tow and was attempting to put on his best front. Hermione must have really ripped into him the night before. Thankfully, Harry was alone at the moment.

She sat down in the re-transfigured chair beside his bed. “They’re letting you out today. You’re going to be up on your feet barreling into duels again in no time.”

Harry chuckled and saw Ron give a faintly amused eye roll. “Yeah, Healer Sow just told me. They’re getting the paperwork ready now.”

“Well, hopefully, it won’t take too long. Molly is already trying to talk everyone into a welcome home party.”

“I was in the hospital for one night,” Harry insisted.

Hermione shrugged as if to say, _what can we do?_

“I hope you don’t mind rainbow banners,” muttered Ron. Harry felt an odd jolt in his chest. “They’ll likely reuse the decorations from Victoire’s party since they’re still up.”

“Wait, today?” Harry asked, glancing between the two.

They both looked as if he was spewing nonsense. “Of course today,” said Hermione. “You’re coming home with us today.”

“With you?”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione simpered, “you don’t actually think we’re going to make you go to Grimmauld with only Kreacher to care for you. I’m sure he’d do a fine job, but we know how much you hate it there. And the healer we spoke to said it would be best that you aren’t alone. You’re still weak. You’ll need help.”

Harry didn’t meet either of their eyes, beginning to pick at the rough complementary blanket laid on his lap. “I wasn’t planning on going to Grimmauld.”

Ron straightened. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You can’t be serious,” he hissed. “Didn’t you just hear her? You’re weak. He can easily overpower you right now.”

Harry snapped his eyes back up to the redhead. “He won’t hurt me.” Ron scoffed and looked away but said nothing more, feeling Hermione’s quelling gaze.

When it became apparent that Ron wouldn’t interrupt, Hermione spoke again. “Really, Harry, we don’t mind having you over.” She grasped his arm as if trying to pull him into compliance. “It’s been so long. It can be just like old times.”

The tension in his body eased hearing the faint plea in her tone. “It’s okay,” he assured. “You guys don’t have time to take care of me, anyway. You have work.”

She shook her head profusely. “It’s no big deal. We can take some time off.”

He gave the woman a dubious look. “No, you can’t, Hermione ― even if you tried to. You’re stressed enough as it is. And Ron has to pick up my slack around the office. Draco has the time, and he’s already agreed.”

She sat up, releasing his hand instantly. “Already? They said they just cleared you. We were waiting outside before they even allowed visitors in. I never saw... How could…”

The door opened.

A cold chill fell over the room. Harry suddenly desperately wished he had had some way to warn Draco to stay away a little longer.

“Oh, er-” Draco stood in the doorway like a deer in headlights. He was debating whether to simply do an about-face and leave without a word or try to power through. Mid-decision, he noticed the sympathy in Harry’s eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he summoned up all of his Malfoy pride and pulled himself up to his full height. He entered the room with his head held up high. “Good morning, Granger, Weasley.” He went around to the other side of the cot and handed Harry one of the cups in his hand. “No coffee, only tea.”

Harry took the cup, looking at the man with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ve been here enough to know that’s not true.”

Draco shrugged and let out a small hum, but in it, Harry could almost hear the words, _it’s healthier_.

Harry rolled his eyes but took a sip nonetheless. It wasn’t nearly as good as any of the brews they had at home ― of which Harry was beginning to get used to.

The two other occupants watched them cautiously. Three years of being an Auror had strengthened Ron’s deductive abilities. With one thorough sweep of the blond man, seeing the same clothes he’d worn the day before and unbrushed hair, he came up to a concerning conclusion. “You didn’t go home.”

Everyone in the room looked at Ron with wide eyes. Why did it feel like they were being accused of something scandalous?

“But Healer Sow said only family could stay the night,” Hermione insisted.

Draco gave a mediocre shrug, his eyes lingering on the steaming drink between his hands. “She considered us living together sufficient enough.”

“And I think Sow has a soft spot for her healer in training,” Harry teased at an ill-advised time. Draco shot him a pleading look to be quiet, but the others had already heard enough.

Ron let out a loud, mirthless laugh. “Malfoy? A healer? That sounds a little contradictory.”

“Hey, will you stop it with the comments,” Harry snapped. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Ron’s eyes bulged. “He’s done a lot wrong, Harry, and for some reason, I keep thinking I’ll walk in here, and you’ll remember that, but it seems like Carrow hit you in the head pretty hard, too.” He shook his head, already beginning to retrace his steps towards the door. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here today. Call me when you’ve got your sanity back. I’ll be in the office, ‘Mione,” he added gruffly before disappearing out the door.

Hermione stared after him. This time she didn’t make an attempt to follow. 

The door had long closed when she finally turned back to Harry. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Her eyes darted across his face, looking for some sign of struggle, any hint of doubt. It was as if she suspected he was being held, hostage.

She may not be acting out like Ron, but Harry knew her thoughts weren't far off from his. She didn't understand this either. Hell, Harry barely understood it.

He gave a curt nod.

Hermione regarded him for one more drawn-out moment before straightening. “Okay. I’ll tell Molly not to expect us.” She glanced up at the clock over the door. “I might be able to still make that meeting with the goblins if I go quickly. They’re so difficult to reschedule.”

She stood. She gave Harry a tight-lipped smile. When she looked up, she found herself in a similar circumstance as she had the evening before, staring at Draco awkwardly.

This time it was Draco who initiated the nod of acknowledgment. He expected her to return it but instead, “Take care of him.” Her voice was stiff, but he could hear the underlying “ _or else_ ” beneath it. A cold chill ran down his body.

Hermione Granger really was a terrifying witch.

“Always.”

She finally returned Draco’s original, polite nod then repeated Ron’s steps out of the room. However, she didn’t walk away entirely. She lingered outside the door, just out of sight from the window but still able to look in.

She watched as both men became considerably more at ease with no one else in the room ― more at ease than Hermione’s seen Harry in a long time. Draco perched on the cot. He said something that caused a broad smile to split across Harry’s face. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that smile. It made her smile, too, despite herself.

All she had wanted for her friend was for him to be happy. She wanted to see him comfortable, for him to not be looking over his shoulder every five seconds, for him to put down the bottle and enjoy his life instead of running from it every second of the day. Now here he was, doing precisely that, and it made her skin crawl.

Why did it have to be him? Why Draco Malfoy?


	14. Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this was going to be a short story...

The paperwork eventually arrived, and Healer Sow gave Harry a thorough warning to take it easy ― adding to Draco that he better make sure he kept off his feet. They both agreed, one more willingly than the other, and then were sent on their way.

With the flat having no access to the Floo network and Harry needing someone to lean on just to walk, it was understood that Draco had to apparate them home. This proved somewhat concerning.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t, only that it had been a very long time since he had, and apparition was a skill that required practice.

Seeing Draco’s uneasiness, Harry was about to suggest inquiring about how long a port key would take to be made when Draco finally squeezed his hand and took the plunge.

It wasn’t as fluid as Harry’s efforts, but the Aurors often had to apparate all over Britain ― it was the one thing he had a real reason to better at than Draco. Despite such little use, they stumbled into the kitchen of the flat and found neither of their persons splinched. All in all, he did well, and Harry told him as much.

Draco rolled his eyes, “I don’t need praise for everything I do well.”

It was a humorous concept to Harry because he knew otherwise, but he tried to hide his smile as best as possible. He did a poor job.

“Fine, get yourself to the sofa, then, Mr. Smiley,” Draco huffed, returning Harry’s arm.

“I don’t have any problem with-” He attempted to step forward and instantly felt a sharp pain shoot up his abdomen. He crumpled forward, nearly losing his footing. Draco caught him before he could fall.

“What was that?” hummed Draco.

Harry rolled his eyes but latched onto Draco nonetheless. “Shut up.”

Draco helped Harry hobble to the sofa, easing him down and placing a blanket over his lap with sarcastic care. Harry swatted him away, fighting the urge to smile again.

With a grin breaking his own face, Draco trotted back to the kitchen, declaring he’d get dinner ready. He opened the fridge. His face fell. There was a six-pack of Harry’s favorite beer, half a pack of carrots, lettuce that was nearing its expiration, and a tomato. Harry was meant to go shopping this Friday.

Draco stared at the ingredients helplessly. Maybe a salad? There was no actual cooking involved, at least. Harry was hurt though, was Draco really going to feed him a pitiful salad?

Dread slithered into his gut as he slowly stood back. They would need more food than that.

“Everything okay?” Draco glanced back to see Harry leaning over the back of the sofa, trying to look into the kitchen. “Oh, we don’t have anything, do we?” He started to sit up like he was going to get to his feet. “I’ll get-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco spoke over him. He snapped the door shut and went to the pile of takeaway menus. “I’ll get it.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Alone?”

Draco looked up at him as if he had asked what color the sky was. “Obviously,” he drawled. “I’m not lugging a cripple around London.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry twisted around to face him fully, refusing to linger on the wince of pain which crossed his face. “You don’t leave the house alone.”

“I went to St. Mungo's without you, didn’t I? I think I can handle some muggles. I’ll go to that Chinese restaurant around the block that you showed me. I’ll be fine.” Draco wasn’t sure if he was saying that to Harry or himself. He tried to keep it off his face. Harry had enough to worry about. This was something Draco could manage on his own.

Harry still appeared apprehensive, but he didn’t notice any obvious red flags. “If you’re sure…”

“I am. Your usual then?” Draco began to collect his raincoat from the hook.

“Yeah, my wallet is by the door.”

“I have my own money.”

“Muggle money?”

“Right…” Draco picked up the thick piece of leather and shoved it in his pocket. “I’ll be right back.” He started out the door. He could feel the resistance in his body as he crossed the threshold for the second time in twenty-four hours, but he shoved past it.

“Draco!” Harry was leaning around the corner, barely visible over the sofa. He appeared more anxious than Draco, eyes darting over the other man in a final search of any reason to make him stay. “Come right back if it gets too much, okay? I won’t be upset.”

Draco could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He nodded and was only confident enough to muster a muddled, “Okay,” before closing the door and being on his way. He knew he couldn’t actually turn back, though. He had committed to this. He would do it.

If Harry could stand, he’d be pacing all over the apartment. In bitter afterthought, he remembered the phone hanging from the wall in the kitchen. They could have just gotten delivery. Harry had been so stunned that Draco had offered to go on his own that he hadn’t even thought about it.

He wondered how far Draco had actually gotten. What if he was curled up in an ally having a panic attack? Harry had no way of contacting Kreacher to send after him. He could call Hermione, but Draco would skewer him if he let one of his friends see him like that. Not to mention how awkward of a conversation that would be with Hermione.

He was just about to try to get up again ― not sure what he would do once he was on his feet ― when the door opened again.

“What are you doing? Sit back down,” Draco snapped the second he spotted Harry hunched forward, starting to get up.

Harry didn’t listen. He wobbled to the breakfast bar where Draco had dropped the bag of food. “Are you okay?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I just went around the corner.” Harry’s well-tuned eyes saw differently. Draco’s fingers were trembling as he pulled the containers of food out. There was no sign of distress on his face other than a slight crease in his brow. His anxiety was likely still working its way out of his system.

Harry reached forward and took one of Draco’s trembling hands from a styrofoam box, earning Draco’s gaze. “Thank you.”

A warm blush budded across Draco’s cheeks. He looked down at the boxes. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s only food.”

Harry had been far too solemn to just be talking about the food. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Harry that Draco had stepped out of his comfort zone several times in the past two days without a hint of hesitation, and he was doing it all for him. Harry was incredibly grateful. If only he could have focused on that longer.

\---

The following days were difficult. Harry was definitely getting better, but he still couldn’t do much on his own, which drove him mad. He could barely sit still anymore. Draco had to do less healing and more entertaining, continually trying to distract Harry with the TV or games or anything else he could think of.

It only got worse when they got an owl from Robards saying that Harry would have to stay out of the office for another week and then be approved by a healer before he could come back in. In the letter, he claimed that week of leave was the least amount of discipline he could justify for Harry acting out of protocol to get Macnair and Carrow. It had been a long time since Draco had seen Harry as furious as he had been after reading that letter.

He claimed he needed air and said he would only go for a walk ― or rather hobble ― around the block, but he came back with a few miscellaneous things for the fridge, which he attempted to use to cover up the two bottles of whiskey he also purchased.

He invited Draco to drink with him the first night. Draco agreed, but it was cheap liquor and gave him a headache, so he didn’t drink much. The second night he declined, but Harry drank without him. As well as the third. And the fourth.

In the beginning, it wasn’t too troubling. The first night had actually been a great test of Draco’s will more than anything. Drunk Harry Potter lost many of his inhibitions and therefore became shameless about his hunger for touch. It was never anything obscene. For the most part, Draco found himself squashed into the corner of the couch with Harry pressed against him, their hands intertwined.

Harry’s favorite position ― and, to his great bewilderment, Draco’s as well ― was when Harry put his head in Draco’s lap and often nodded off to sleep. However, these small, pleasant moments were eclipsed by the rest of the days, which were long and strenuous.

Arguments became commonplace. Harry wanted to do everything for himself, and the more Draco said no, the more Harry wanted to try to do on his own. It didn’t help that they had no break from one another. While the pair lived together for all intents and purposes, they had never spent quite this much time with one another. Harry typically spent his days at the office and his sober evenings with Draco. However, Draco was quickly beginning to understand why Ron and Hermione wouldn’t allow painkiller potions.

It wasn’t as if he was a mean drunk or that he drank a whole bottle in one night. He was just so restless that he seemed to need something to sedate him. However, once he was sedated, he’d usually become very quiet and stared blankly at the television or out the window, or he’d have a panic attack that Draco would have to talk him down from.

There was one thing for certain, he learned more about Harry Potter’s view of the war in these past few days than any biography could have ever told him. The hunt for Horcruxes must have been excruciating because most of his slurred ramblings were about new places to look or new theories on what the next object could be. Draco had learned some time ago not to sneak up on Harry, but his hypervigilance seemed to double during a difficult night, to the point that Draco purposefully kept Harry’s wand out of reach. Harry suspected everything to be Voldemort coming to attack him.

On the morning of Harry’s appointment with Sow, Draco woke up early. Never before had he found himself looking forward to word that Harry had to go back to work. He almost felt guilty about it. He felt no urge to kick Harry out, but he did wish there was something he could do to help him.

He was putting together their morning tea when he heard a knock on the door. He stiffened.

He had left Harry passed out in the bed, neither of them had ordered any delivery this early, and no one had even called up to let them in. It was either a neighbor or someone magical who could easily bypass locks. Knowing his luck, it was likely the latter.

Draco secured a hand around his wand. He crept to the door. Holding his breath, he pressed his face to the peephole and peered through.

His eyes found bushy hair and a tight expression. Hermione Granger.

Except for the slap across the face their third year, Granger was not one who was quick to physical violence. She didn’t appear angry, only a bit uncomfortable. She wasn’t harmless ― certainly not ― but she was at least not meaning harm at the moment.

He opened the door. “Granger?”

“Hello, Malfoy,” she greeted politely. Spotting the questions in his eyes, she explained, “Ron gave me your address.” Lovely, more people with his address. She looked past Draco into the flat. “I had a little extra time before I went into the office, and I wanted to check on Harry. We haven’t heard anything.”

“The office? It’s a Saturday.”

She shrugged. “It’s a bit off the books. I’m meeting some house-elves to see what type of benefits they’d like to receive for their work.”

There were many things in that statement that threw Draco for a loop. Giving benefits to house-elves was one of them. The one he pointed out was, “None of you stop working, do you?”

Some of the tightness around her mouth loosened. “He’s not taking the time off well, is he?”

Draco shook his head gravely.

She heaved a sigh. “I was afraid of that.” Her eyes began to dart behind him again. “Where is he?”

“Still asleep.” He hesitated but eventually stepped out from the doorframe. “You can wait inside if you’d like.”

She leaned inside as if something was holding her hips outside the door. She glimpsed at a clock. “No, I think not. I don’t want to be late — owl me when he wakes, though, if you don’t mind. I’ll give you the address. Do you have a quill and parchment?” She scribbled the air like she already had the quill.

A disquieting bout of embarrassment fell over him suddenly. “Actually, I don’t have an owl.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have much reason to keep in touch with the wizarding world,” he gestured to the white-walled flat, “and no pets allowed here.”

“Right, well, er…” Hermione took a cautious step into the flat, looking around.

Her original intentions faded as she looked around. Everything was so white and modern. So un-Malfoy-like. Her eyes lingered on the only door in the hall. “One bedroom?”

Draco followed her gaze. He was grateful that he closed the door behind him on the way out. Harry didn’t like wearing much when he was drinking ― yet another reason Draco was slowly going insane. “We make do.”

She nodded slowly, but he could see her working something in her brain that made him feel incredibly self-conscious.

When she spotted the fireplace, she remembered what she’d been looking for. She went to open her mouth, but Draco beat her to it. “No Floo either.”

Hermione found herself flabbergasted. Draco Malfoy was genuinely living like a muggle. No owls, no Floo, not even robes ― he wore a gray jumper with black trousers and socks, not at all something a well-respected pureblood would be seen walking around in.

In a final attempt, she looked around once more, and her eyes landed on the telephone. “Do you know how to use that?” she inquired.

He nodded. “I’ve seen Harry use it a few times to order dinner.”

Hearing her friend’s given name come from their childhood bully’s lips was strange, especially when it coincided with him talking about the pair having dinner together. Nonetheless, she took another step into the flat. “I’ll give you my number then. Quill?”

Draco turned towards the table by the door then handed her a pad of paper and a pen. She stared at it. “Oh! You press the top,” Draco instructed.

She bit her lip, attempting not to smile. “I know how to use it. I’m honestly a little surprised you do.”

Draco shrunk, but there was a whisper of a smile playing on his lips. “I’ve learned a lot in the last few months. Like how much I wish we had pens at school.”

Hermione gave an overly exaggerated eye roll. “Don’t even get me started on that. Having children carry inkwells in bags is just absurd, not to mention scrolls of paper. And not even to mention-”

“Granger.”

“Hm?”

He pointed at the clock over the stove. “Aren’t you late for something?”

“Oh right,” she hurried to scribble down her number as well as something else. “Our address as well,” she said, returning the pen and paper, “call or come by if anything happens. If we aren’t there, we’re in the office.”

“I would assume so.”

She pursed her lips, considering a retort but deciding against it. She fixed her bag on her shoulder and unnecessarily patted down her brown business robes. “I’ll be off then.”

Draco suddenly felt his stomach become very tight. Guilt wriggled in his chest at the thought of saying anything, but it became worse at the idea of pretending everything was okay. He had an opportunity here; it would be stupid to let it pass.

He followed her out the door. “Granger.”

She turned and instinctively began to pat herself down in search of what she might have forgotten ― that was the only reason he would stop her. But Draco had nothing in his hands. He glanced back at the bedroom door and waited for a second, only for silence to greet him in return. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door gently behind him.

Hermione stayed perfectly still, not sure what was going on. She could feel the weight in the way he moved. He fidgeted with his sleeve and appeared relatively small even though he was taller than the woman. “Does Harry… Does Harry have a drinking problem?”

All the tension in her body fell, but it wasn’t from relief. It was more like defeat. Despite her opinions of Draco, she had yet to say a bad thing about him because he appeared to be helping Harry; however, the concern in his eyes made it clear that it had only been a temporary fix. “He’s going out again?”

“No, he stays in the flat. It’s only started since he’s been hurt. I don’t know if I would have really noticed, but he mentioned that you were concerned about him.”

She nodded. “We have been for a while. He started after he broke up with Ginny. At first, we just thought he was upset, so we left him to it, and then he just never stopped. All he’s done for the last two years is drink and work, until-” she paused, her eyes searched Draco. “Well, until you, I suppose. These last few months, he’s been doing very well from what I can tell.”

“Well, he isn’t anymore,” Draco spoke point-blank. He wasn’t like Hermione or Ron. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to tiptoe around it to save anyone’s pride.

“I guess it’s the job. He misses it,” she considered. If he only resumed recently, then that was the most likely cause. “He likes working. It keeps him centered.”

Draco scoffed, his face twisting into a sneer. “It doesn’t keep him centered. That job is killing him. You should see the way he comes home sometimes. He runs headfirst into things and never looks back. This isn’t going to be the last time he’s seriously injured, and he might not get back up from the next one. Honestly, I think he’s more addicted to the job than he is to drinking.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment.

After the war, she never stopped to question Harry’s desire to be an Auror. It seemed like the obvious career path for him, and it would undoubtedly give him an opportunity for success. She had thought it was a good choice. She knew it was dangerous, but their childhoods were dangerous. It was nothing new. She never saw it as something that was hurting him, not the way Draco was describing.

Draco drew in a heavy breath, letting it fill him up till he stood tall. “I was only wondering if there was something I should know but, if not, I’ll handle it.” He glanced back at the apartment door. “He has a checkup today. I’ll call you with the results.”

He started to turn back towards the flat but Hermione didn’t leave. “Malfoy.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t trust you.” This wasn’t news to him. He let out a short, curt snort. “I don’t trust you,” she repeated pointedly, urging him not to interrupt again, “but he does, which is enough for me because I know he doesn’t trust easily. It took me lying about going after a troll by myself for him to consider me a friend.

“He’s been through a lot, most of which I know nothing about, and he has a lot of walls. If you’re able to take some of them down even just so he can have at least one person to really talk to, then I’ll never stand in your way. However, if you have ill intentions, I’ll handle you ― personally.”

Draco swallowed hard. There was that fearsome witch — the one who was once all brain but panicked under pressure. Any timid nature she once had washed away long ago. The war had hardened her, just like many others, and he did not believe for one second that she was bluffing.

He didn’t cower, though, because he knew his intentions and his capabilities. “I couldn’t hurt him,” he turned slowly back towards the girl, “even if I wanted to. He has this annoying habit of saving me, and us Slytherins; well…we never forget a debt.”

“Is that all this is? Repaying a debt?”

He sighed. He began to fumble with his sleeve again. “It’s what I’ve been telling myself. I don’t think I’m ready for anything else yet.” He stared at the carpeted hallway, and words came out of his mouth that he meant to keep in his head though he didn’t appear to notice. “I’m still trying to convince myself that he’ll stay.”

Hermione had never seen the Malfoy boy look so vulnerable. Whatever this was between them was bringing out things in both men that no one had ever seen in either of them before. It was hard to tell if it was good.

“Call me when you know what’s going on,” she instructed, breaking him from his thoughts.

Draco brought his gaze back to her and gave a nod though his eyes were still cloudy with his previous thoughts. With that, she turned away and snapped into thin air.

Draco stepped back into the flat. He should wake Harry up soon, or they’d be late for his appointment.

\- - -

“She’s mad. I’m fine,” Harry snarled the moment they gained their footing once again. They had just returned from the hospital after Healer Sow ran several tests and advised that Harry should remain out of the office for a few more days. Draco wasn’t too surprised by this verdict. It was hard for the body to heal from potent curses without sufficient rest, and coating his insides with liquor was likely not expediting the processes.

Outwardly, he appeared fine, but the curse was still twisted in his body, and another good blow would likely cause a great deal of damage ― which was a common hazard for his job.

“She said we can go back Tuesday and do another examination,” Draco urged. “That isn’t too far away.”

“For an Auror, it is,” he snapped. “There’s been an attack in Winchester. If they don’t find who it is, they could strike again. They need help in the office.”

“What are you on about? How do you know that?”

Harry turned away, staggering towards the sitting room. “It doesn’t matter how.”

“You looked at the Prophet, didn’t you? I told you not to. They always over-exaggerate things, and you don’t need to worry about that right now.”

“I’m Auror. It is my job to worry about it.”

“You aren’t an Auror right now.”

Harry spun around. A fearsome glare in his eyes. Draco returned it easily. Harry was the one person he’d never be scared of, he knew what it felt like to be under his glares, and he wasn’t about to back down from it now.

Harry knew this as well and knew it was a losing game to try to stare Draco down. He started towards the door. “I need some air.”

“No, you need to rest, or you’ll never heal,” Draco urged.

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Harry shook his head, reaching for his coat. Draco swiftly stepped out of the kitchen entryway and into Harry’s path. “You’re staying.”

“Move.”

“No, you’re just going to go out to get more liquor, and that isn’t going to help you either.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “So you think I’m a drunk too? That’s what this is about.”

“I think you’re stubborn and like to run away from your problems.”

“I’m fine,” Harry snarled. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need any help.”

That was enough for Draco. He was sick of hearing how ‘fine’ Harry was every time he walked into the house with bruises or cuts or dried blood on his robes. He was sick of Harry acting like he had to do everything alone. Even when he had panic attacks, he rarely allowed Draco in the same room. He was just so done with letting Harry lie to himself.

“You aren’t fine,” Draco hissed. “You still think you're in the war. That's why you became an Auror. A normal person would be done with violence and justice after everything you've done, but you went back to it! You can't stand being away from it. You just keep punching and fighting your way through life, but your punching thin air, and clearly, you haven't learned anything from it because you still refuse to let people help you. If you keep telling people your fine, people will eventually stop asking; and then when you really do need help, no one will be around. You can’t keep doing this to yourself or your friends.”

Harry was bubbling with rage. He didn't know what he said until he heard it ringing in his ears like an alarm warning him that he'd gone too far. "Right because you really know what it's like to have friends. Oh right, they’re all dead or too embarrassed by you.”

Draco's jaw dropped. "Get out."

Harry could feel all of the hot tension disappear in his body instantly as he gaped at Draco. “Wait, I-“

“You wanna do everything on your own? You wanna drink yourself into a coma,” Draco’s voice was cracking. “Go ahead. I’m not going to watch. If you’re ‘fine’ then you don’t need me. Go.”


	15. Dinner with Umbridge

"I always said that I'd mess up eventually  
I told you that, so what did you expect from me?  
It shouldn't come as no surprise anymore  
I know you said that you'd give me another chance  
But you and I knew the truth of it in advance  
That mentally you were already out the door..."

― _Habit_ by Louis Tomlinson

“What are you doing here?” Ron was frowning as he watched Harry riffle through the papers on his desk.

Ron wasn’t even supposed to be there on a Saturday, but he was helping with the Winchester case. It hadn’t been a big deal, only two wizards getting into a drunken row; the real damage was that they’d been too loud and were spotted by several muggles. The Auror office was helping the Obliviators track down several of the muggles who had left before they got there to clean it up.

“Working,” Harry said curtly.

Ron supposed he should have expected that considering how he’d acted the last time they had seen each other. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize, though. He wasn’t sorry. Draco was a bad idea ― he had to be.

“Not too busy with your new mate?”

Harry slapped open a file more forcefully than necessary, not looking up. “I left.”

A weight pulled off of Ron’s chest. “Really? That’s gre-“

A loud bang interrupted Ron. “Potter,” Robards roared as he stormed out of his office, “I thought I heard your voice. What the hell are you doing here? I just got a letter from Healer Sow. You are not cleared to be here.”

“She’s being paranoid. I’m fine,” Harry snapped.

“I don’t give a damn. I’m not letting you out on the field until I get written confirmation from a healer that you’re fit enough for the job.”

“Fine, I’ll stay in the office and do paperwork, but I want to come back to work.”

“It’s not even a scheduled day for you. Go home, most would kill for time off to spend time with their loved ones.”

“Well, I don’t have anyone to go home to, so I don’t really have a reason to be anywhere else.”

Robards narrowed his eyes. “I thought...” He looked to Ron quizzically, who answered with the shake of his head. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, I got hurt. I’m better now. Let me work.”

Robards skimmed the man’s face, looking for answers but only found the old stubborn glare he hadn’t at all missed from his most reckless Auror. Something definitely happened, but he wasn’t the type to meddle in personal lives. “Fine, desk work only until you’re cleared. If you step one toe out of this office other than to go take a shit, you’re out of here. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ron watched as his friend dropped into his desk chair and began to go through the backlog of papers. He hadn’t seen Harry volunteer for paperwork in months. It used to be common ― no matter how much he hated it ― just so he wouldn’t have to go back to Grimmauld. In bouts of pity, Ron would often invite him over for dinner, which was usually followed by him crashing on the couch ― something else that hadn’t happened in quite some time.

If Harry had left Malfoy, then he couldn’t still be too upset with Ron. Maybe he’d accept an offer. “When you’re done with that, you can come over for dinner tonight,” Ron suggested. “It’s been a while.”

“Hm? Oh, I ca-“ He stopped and blinked a few times as if suddenly remembering something. “Yeah, okay…”

\---

“He’s what?” Hermione stared at her boyfriend in absolute bewilderment. She had only beaten him to their apartment by about two minutes and was still trying to process her workday, let alone the news they were having company. She felt like she’d forgotten what it was like to have Harry over. Not to mention she knew that neither of them had anything planned for a meal of any kind.

“He’s right behind me. He was just finishing up a few more files,” Ron said as he tossed his cloak over the back of the sofa. There was a large smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He should be happy about his friend coming over, but he’d watched him throughout the day. Something was off. Or, rather, he was acting like he used to. He was standoffish, and he barely sat still. He couldn’t leave the office, but he spent as little time sitting down as he could. Ron had even forgotten about his insistent leg shaking in its absence.

“But he wasn’t cleared yet.”

Ron’s smile faltered. “How do you know that?”

She waved a hand towards the phone receiver. “Malfoy told me.”

Ron raised a brow. “You two are phone buddies now?”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you I was going by their flat to check on Harry. He was asleep when I got there, so I told Malfoy to call me when they heard more.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron plopped down on the old, faux leather sofa and began to tug off his boots, “he better lose our number. Harry left him.”

She straightened instantly. “Wait, really?”

Ron nodded. “Good riddance too, I say.”

She felt the urge to agree, but the tight feeling in her chest cautioned her. She frowned down at her bag, no longer seeing the documents she’d been pulling out of it to place on the dining table. “But they were fine this morning. Malfoy was a little worried about Harry, but that was all.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t know why. Harry seems all right, maybe a little sore still.”

“No, not about his injury. He was worried about his drinking.” Ron’s face fell. “He said something about Harry being an Auror that I can’t get out of my head. He said that Harry was more addicted to the danger of the job than he is to drinking.”

Ron let out a loud snort. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You’ve told me about your missions ― which you aren’t supposed to, by the way.” She gave him a pursed expression that would make Molly Weasley proud. He merely shrugged. They fought a war together; Robards should expect them to talk about cases. She went on, “He’s always impulsive. He’s always hurt. Maybe Malfoy has a point. Maybe it isn’t good for him.”

“That’s part of the job.”

“And that’s been part of his whole life. He’s never had a single break. What if he just doesn’t know how? What if when he finally does take a break, it’s permanent.”

Ron swallowed hard. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he had noticed the same thing before. He’s had countless arguments with Harry about running into unnecessary fights. Like most Aurors, the job had taught Ron when to be cautious and when to move forward, but Harry always went in wand blazing. However, the job had not taught Ron how to forgive Death Eaters. If anything, it fueled his hatred, and he wasn’t about to admit to agreeing with one.

“He’ll be okay. He just needs to heal up, and everything will be back to normal.”

That was her fear. Normal Harry didn’t equate to a healthy Harry.

Hermione didn’t get a chance to argue. A green flame sparked in their fireplace only moments before Harry materialized in their sitting room.

“Ah, there he is,” Ron greeted heartily.

“Sorry I took so long,” said Harry, “I needed to get that last file notarized. Hey, ‘Mione.”

“Hey, Harry,” she greeted as they both stepped around the sofa for a quick embrace. “I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting you. We don’t have anything planned for dinner.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron mumbled, earning a sharp look from his girlfriend. He quickly pulled on a grin. “I mean, that’s too bad. We’ll have to get takeaway. Chinese?”

“Fine, but you’re getting it.”

Ron’s shoulders rounded. “Can’t we get delivery?”

“We don’t have enough pounds for the extra fee. Either you go get it, or you go to Gringotts for currency exchange.”

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it.”

Hermione placed their orders over the phone while Ron changed into muggle clothes. When he came out, she tossed him a wallet, and he walked out the door.

“That man,” she mumbled. She flicked her wand at his cloak, which was still over the back of the sofa and neatly hung itself onto the hook by the door. “I think he does things just to irk me.”

Harry chuckled from the sofa. “I know he used to do so in school. It was the quickest way to get your attention.”

She rolled her eyes and plopped down onto the sofa beside Harry, her arms crossed and lips pursed. She shook her head. “I don’t know whether that’s sweet or idiotic.”

“He’s good at sitting on that line.”

She scoffed. “Too good.”

A brief pause followed her words. It was a comfortable silence, the kind he could only have with Hermione. Their relationship had never been one that needed the validation of words. It was something he missed.

However, this comfort didn’t last. He could feel her gaze focus and begin to assess him. “How are you?” She tried to speak casually, but he could hear the concerned undertone. He didn’t miss that.

“I’m fine.”

Her brow creased. She didn’t believe him for a second. “I stopped by the flat this morning.”

He nodded. “Draco told me.”

“He also told me you weren’t cleared to go back to work and yet-“

Harry narrowed his eyes. His thoughts instantly jumped to a conspiracy. “He didn’t know that this morning.”

“No, he called me earlier,” she explained. He eased for a second and then tensed again. It wasn’t the hot, tight burst as before, but something strenuous which knotted his muscles and made him look down at his lap.

They had to have spoken after he left, which meant Draco likely told her what happened between them. He was surprised Hermione wasn’t tearing him a new one for saying something so insensitive to anyone ― Malfoy or not. His words and his regret had been knocking around in his skull all day, slowly driving him insane. It was the reason he decided to damn the rules and went to the office.

Hermione bit her lip, and he could feel a question coming. He prepared himself for the worst of it. “Did something happen between you two?”

He looked at her. She was scanning him, looking for answers, but appeared to have no insight into the matter. “He didn’t-“ Harry’s brow furrowed as he looked at her, wondering for a second if she was playing dumb. That wasn’t Hermione’s style, though. “He didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head. “No, he only said you weren’t cleared. He was very brief. I thought it was a bit rude, honestly.”

So Draco wasn’t going to throw him under the bus. Maybe he didn’t think Hermione would agree with Harry or just wouldn't care. There was no wonder if she trusted Draco or not. He likely figured she’d be happy Harry left. That wasn’t Hermione, though, Harry knew. She fought for justice no matter who it was, and Harry was very much in the wrong right now.

“I might have said some things,” he mumbled, fumbling with his cuticles.

“What things?”

He turned his head as if he meant to look at her but couldn’t force his eyes to do so. His gaze lingered on the sleeve of her blouse. “Nothing you would be proud of me for.”

Her face fell. “Oh Harry,” she simpered. He instantly turned his face back towards the mantel. “You really need to learn to think before you speak.”

“I was angry, okay? I just heard that I wasn’t cleared, and he wanted to keep me locked up in the house. He wouldn’t even let me go for a walk.”

Her face twisted. “Were you really going for a walk, or we’re going to that pub again?”

Harry sprung to his feet, putting distance between himself and the woman as he rounded to the other side of the sofa. “We’re not having this conversation again. I’m fine.”

“No, Harry, you’re not.” She urged, her eyes following him as he began to pace, trying to keep his face hidden from her as much as possible. “You’ve never been fine. You’ve been fighting evil since you were one-years-old. Of course, you’re not fine. We just want you to admit it and let us help you.”

“No! Anyone who helps me gets hurt!” he snapped. “My parents, Sirius, Moody, Snape, they all tried to help me and look what happened to them. Until I was eleven, I was alone, and I dealt with my own crap, and no one got hurt.”

“No one except for you.”

Harry stopped pacing and stared at her for a long moment. He didn’t know why it was so jarring to hear. Maybe because he never considered himself a victim, it was merely unfavorable things that happened to him, but he always managed them, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.

Hermione had softened as she watched these thoughts transpire across his visage. He’d always been easy to read. It was the reason she knew that Draco really helped him.

“Go apologize to him. Whatever you said, I think he’ll forgive you.”

Harry shook his head. “No, he shouldn’t, and that’s okay. It’s better this way. This is better.”

He saw her open her mouth to argue, and he started back towards the fireplace. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Hermione jumped to her feet and seized his arm. “No, no,” she urged desperately. She hugged his arm, holding him as securely as possible. “Please, stay. I’ll only worry about you. Besides, you don’t want to be at Grimmauld, and we already ordered your food.”

He still looked apprehensive.

“I won’t say another word about Malfoy. I swear.”

He was reluctant, but he also didn’t want to go back to the empty townhouse. He silently sat back down on the sofa. They didn’t linger in silence for long this time, Hermione quickly starting a new conversation to keep him there.

Ron eventually arrived with the food. Hermione was true to her word the whole night and never brought up Malfoy again. It didn’t mean that Harry didn’t think about him. They picked probably the worst takeaway for him. Like a heartbroken schoolgirl, he stared at the packet of chopsticks Ron refused to use ― he claimed utensils were supposed to make it easier to eat, not harder.

Harry could almost imagine Draco picking them up and joining them for dinner. He could picture the smug smile on his lips as he stole the chicken from Harry’s plate, showing off his aptitude. There wasn’t even a slight chance that would happen now. Harry would have to come to terms with that. He was just too good at saying the wrong things at the worst moments.

The days which followed held a similar standard. Harry went to the office, even if Robards and Ron weren’t there, and did desk work for as long as he could milk it each day. He couldn’t believe he was actually running out of paperwork to do. He had to start skimming off the other Auror’s ― not that they argued.

He went over to Ron and Hermione’s after work once more on Sunday, but that was all. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. He could also feel their concern rising each day. The nights he didn’t go to their house, he wandered back to his old pub and found his regular barstool waiting for him. Even the bartender gave him a pitying looking when he saw the man return.

Bad news came when Harry went back to the hospital for his checkup on Tuesday. Healer Sow was professional enough not to mention Draco’s absence, but he had the uncanny feeling that she was terser with him than usual. She also most certainly did not restrain from giving him a piece of her mind when she found out that he had returned to work despite her warnings. To his dismay, she ordered him to stay home for the rest of the week and stay off his feet if he wanted to get back onto the field anytime soon.

He planned to ignore her and not tell Robards. He should have known he wouldn’t get away with it. When he arrived at the office Wednesday morning, Robards was waiting at his desk to send him back home before he even put his bag down.

Returning to Grimmauld wasn’t easy, to say the least. Kreacher attempted to make him comfortable, in his own coarse way. He primarily kept supplying food and drink. Harry took the drink more easily than the food.

Grimmauld did to him what Grimmauld did best. He was swallowed whole by his own mind. Alone and in pain, he could barely leave his room if he wanted to, haunted by nearly two panic attacks a day. He almost apparated to Draco’s just out of instinct, but he was too stubborn, and he didn’t want to bother Draco again. He had wrecked that enough.

On the fourth night, Harry was almost completely incapacitated by his thoughts. All he could see were castle walls on fire. People falling dead left and right. Chilling screams on the bracing spring breeze.

“Would Master like Mr. Malfoy?” Kreacher asked that every time now. The other man had been the first thing the house-elf had ever seen to actually help his master. It took everything in Harry to say no.

Barely hanging onto the moment, Harry shook his head which was held between his hands.

Kreacher sighed. “Whiskey then, Master?”

Harry was going to agree, but he could feel his eyes begin to burn. He was on the ground, his back pushed up against his bed, but he still felt vulnerable. He knew what he really wanted more than anything.

“Ron,” Harry croaked. “’Mione.” He took a big gulp of air. “Get them.”

Kreacher stared at Harry with wide eyes, not certain if he’d heard right. He deiced not to ask. He vanished with a snap.

\---

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Ron sighed. They were clinking around in their kitchen, preparing a simple dinner for themselves. “To rely on someone that much? It isn't healthy. He can't only be okay if Malfoy is around. That's not healing."

"You're right, but I don't think that's what it was, per se,” she urged. “Malfoy was in a bad way too, right? And he was trying to help him. It's difficult to preach something you haven't practiced yourself. I think being with Malfoy helped him believe he was worth saving. I honestly believe he didn't think that before."

"We've told him that a thousand times!"

"I know, but I'm sure it sounded different coming from someone like Malfoy.”

“Someone who has tried to kill him?”

“Someone who has nearly been killed, and not just as a casualty of war, it was planned. We all know Voldemort never meant for Malfoy to survive trying to kill Dumbledore. That was just a prolonged death sentence. It’s why we all took pity on him during the trial.”

Ron became silent. It had been a cruel revelation during the trials. Voldemort had devised a way for Draco to actively bring about his own death, and he had to play along, or his family would die in his place. That information was what got the jury on his side.

“I don’t know, Ronald,” she sighed. “I’m just worried about him. For a second, we had him back.” She looked away from the cutting board to meet her boyfriend’s gaze, her eyes glassy. “At this point, I would invite Umbridge over for dinner if it meant we got him back.”

Ron made a face. “I think I’d need to be committed if I found out he was leaving his toothbrush at her house.” She could still feel the pull of concern in her chest. Nonetheless, she found herself chuckling at his words.

“Weasley and Mud- Granger,” Kreacher barely caught himself. The couple might not have noticed whether or not he had said the insult. They were both too busy clutching their chests and trying not to yelp in fright.

“Kreacher!” Hermione exclaimed. “What are you doing-” Her shock faded as the color from her face drained. “Is something wrong with Harry?”

Harry seldom sent Kreacher to them. The last time he had, an uncaptured Death Eater had followed him home and had him pinned in the drawing-room.

Kreacher nodded rapidly.

Abandoning everything they’d been doing, Ron and Hermione both lunged forward to grab some part of Kreacher. They whirled away a second later.

They landed in the kitchen of Grimmauld. The elf started up the steps with Ron and Hermione on his heels. They came to an abrupt halt on the landing of the second floor. The sound of heavy breathing could be heard from the room they knew to be Harry’s, the occasional whimper cutting through the air.

They ran to the door. Kreacher lingered behind. The breath was knocked out of the pair simultaneously. Harry was in the nook between his bedside table and bed, his legs brought up to his chest, fingers twisted in his hair, and his face tucked between his knees. He rocked a bit, trying to keep himself grounded with the pain of the corner of the nightstand digging into his back.

“Harry?” Hermione whimpered. She could feel tears pricking her eyes once again.

His head snapped up. His eyes were wide as if they had seen something they weren’t supposed to. For a moment, they both thought he was going to try to kick them out.

The shock in his eyes gradually fell, and he began to push himself up onto the bed. “I- I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I just need-” His voice broke off. He hugged himself, his nails digging into his sides.

Hermione crossed the room in the three large steps. Ron right behind her. They both dropped onto the bed on either side of him. They wrapped their arms around him in a tight embrace. He tensed. Then he finally let everything out.

The years of abandonment and abuse. The world’s weight on his shoulders. The losses he experienced. It all came plummeting out of him, and for the first time, he didn’t try to keep it to himself.

He wasn’t sure if he could ever do it entirely by himself again. Draco had broken down too many of his walls, and he couldn’t put them back up quick enough.

\---

The golden trio sat, crying in each other’s arms for what felt like hours. It felt like their whole childhood had led up to this moment — this moment when they each finally admitted that they were not, in fact, okay.

When the tears subsided, they simply sat there in silence for even longer. Feeling that most of her tears had dried, Hermione finally untangled herself from the boys first. “How about some hot chocolate,” she suggested.

The boys, who slowly finished separating, both nodded. “I’ll come with,” said Ron, his voice hoarse. He looked back at Harry as he stood up. “To make sure she doesn’t burn the chocolate.”

She made a poor attempt at glaring at him, her eyes still too red and puffy. “I can make hot chocolate.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said, patting her back, sarcasm dripping off his words. Harry chuckled. Hermione rolled her eyes but stopped arguing.

The couple went back down to the kitchen. Kreacher was there; he watched them expectantly. “He’s doing better,” Ron assured. “Three hot chocolates.”

The house-elf bowed his head and got to work.

Hermione sighed and sat down at the end of the long dining table. “Do you even know what that was?”

“Master has fits,” Kreacher croaked amid waving his hand and calling three mugs down from the cupboard. “At least two a day lately.”

“Lately?” Hermione sat up. “So he didn’t have them before?”

Kreacher shook his head, his ears flopping around. “Master has always had them. Usually tells Kreacher off or has Kreacher bring him whiskey to calm it. Lately, though, Mr. Malfoy has been helping him. Mr. Malfoy knows how to talk him through it. Has experience of his own, Kreacher thinks.”

Hermione snapped her head up to Ron. He was staring at the elf, a tight expression on his face. “Ron,” she urged.

He didn’t respond.

She stood up. “Ronald,” she pressed harder. “I know you don’t like it, I don’t either, but he needs him. Harry’s never even told us he has,” she gestured to Kreacher, not sure if the word he used was right but not knowing a better one, “fits. He needs help, and we aren’t enough. Ron, don’t walk away from me!”

“I’ll be back,” he mumbled.

“What? Where are you going? Is this really the best time-?”

He spun back to face her. “You’re right,” he admitted. “You’re also right that I don’t like it, but,” he glanced up at the ceiling towards Harry’s room, “I hate this even more. I refuse to invite Umbridge over for dinner, but,” he heaved a sigh, “I guess I can handle Malfoy.”

He started to turn away again but was suddenly hindered. Hands on his face pulled him towards soft lips. He briefly forgot what he was doing.

Hermione pulled away with a smile. “I love you.”

He nodded, feeling his cheeks warm. “I love you, too.”

He pushed away, the smile which was inching on his face, suddenly looking serious again. “I’m going to get him back.”

"I'm in my bed  
And you're not here  
And there's no one to blame  
But the drink and my wandering hands

Forget what I said  
It's not what I meant  
And I can't take it back  
I can't unpack the baggage you left..."

― _Falling_ by Harry Styles


	16. Help Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief talk of eating disorders

Draco was curled into his sofa. He stared at the television. His eyes were mostly glazed over, not really taking in what he was watching. It was how he had spent most of the last week. Every once in a while, he’d crack open a book, but he was pretty certain he’d read all of them. He only considered making potions once, but it just didn’t sound entertaining whatsoever.

His appetite had once again begun to wane. At the very least, this meant he could stretch out whatever leftovers they had for longer than usual. By Tuesday, the fridge was virtually empty, except for some condiments. He had to go out on his own.

He made an attempt; he really did. However, he had only gotten down to the lobby of his apartment building before he went scrambling back up to his flat. It only infuriated him more as he realized he couldn’t do anything on his own.

The rest of Tuesday and Wednesday, he went without eating. The abrupt fast did not do well for his body. He had forgotten the feeling of his body eating away at itself, searching for whatever nutrients were left. Every step he took, he wondered if his legs would just give way.

Pansy had stopped messaging him as often after her last visit, and his mother only sent an owl around about once a month. He did, however, have new resources at his disposal. He found out that he hated talking on the phone after calling Hermione. Merely waiting for social interaction and listening to that dreaded dial tone was absolutely stress-inducing. He wasn’t about to starve himself, though. He had survived too much to end up in a grave like that. Friday evening, he gave in and picked up the phone.

Things became a little better after that. He could at least walk around some. He had started to go out onto the balcony whenever it wasn’t raining, which was incredibly rare, but it gave him some fresh air. If he could live without Harry Potter once, he could do it again. It would just take some time to get back into his old habits.

Of course, he never had the best habits to begin with. Sitting and watching the television for hours on end was likely not the best for him. He couldn’t make himself do much more, though. As much as he kept telling himself to forget about Harry, it simply wasn’t happening. It didn’t help that Harry’s stuff was still there. He should really clean that out.

Two loud thuds on his door yanked him from his thoughts and made him jump several centimeters in the air. He stared at the door with wide eyes. For one wild moment, he thought he’d hear Harry’s voice on the other side of the door. However, a different voice rang out. “Malfoy? Open up. I need to talk to you.”

Draco frowned at the door. What was Ron Weasley doing there?

“Go away,” Draco called back. He remembered what happened the last time he’d opened the door for Ron. Draco had yet to fix the crack in the mirror beside the door from when Ron smashed his head into it.

“Please,” Ron croaked. Draco drew up to his feet. He never thought he’d hear that word come out of a single Weasley’s lips. “It’s Harry.” Draco’s heart stuttered. He took a step towards the door. “ _He needs you_.”

Draco’s steps were slow, but he eventually made it to the entryway. “He should have thought about that before. I tried to help him. He wouldn’t accept it.”

There was a soft thud against the door. “He’s my best mate, but he can be a stubborn git,” Ron huffed. “He might not ask you for help, but I am. I’m- I’m begging, actually. _Please_.”

Draco reached towards the handle. His hand trembled. This could be some sort of trap. Ron just wanted him to open the door, so he could attack him again. He wouldn’t be the first. He had a wand, though, and the wards weren’t that strong; he could break down the door if he really wanted to. Draco opened the door.

Ron brought his head off the door when it moved. He had his hands on either side of the doorframe; his body was slumped forward like he was tired from running and could barely maintain the position. When he looked up, Draco saw utter defeat in his eyes.

The moment he saw Draco, he began talking, scared he’d shut the door on him again. “I forgot how bad he was before.”

“What do you-”

Ron kept going. It appeared to almost pain him to speak, but he feared that if he stopped, he wouldn’t say what he needed to say.

“I forgot what he was like before. He barely slept unless he downed a whole bottle of whiskey. He couldn’t sit still. Loud noises set him off. Honestly, I was getting to the point where I was afraid to let him around Hermione, which isn’t fair to either of them ― they’re like siblings.” Describing the past was making Ron’s eyes burn once again. He had been reaching his breaking point, and it wasn’t as long ago as he’d like it to be.

“But I forgot all of that because he was getting better. I noticed the change, but I didn’t know why, and I was too afraid to ask because I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t know it was because of you. Then when he told me,” Ron shook his head, slumping forward as he tried to level himself once more, “I was too angry to believe what he was trying to tell me. I didn’t listen.”

He brought his head back up to look at Draco. “Then whatever happened between you two happened, and I was happy,” he admitted. “I thought it would all work out,” he shook his head more profusely this time, “but it’s not. That other Harry, the one I’m afraid to invite over, is coming back, and I’m at a loss at what to do.

“Please, Malfoy,” his voice cracked. Ron cleared his throat, making a harsh sound like gravel crunching, but his eyes were still glossy. “I can’t lose another brother. _Help him_.”

Draco shook his head. He could tell Ron was sincere, and maybe, if he thought he could help, he would. But what Ron was explaining, Draco had never done anything to help him with any of that. He’d only ever helped him from the sofa to the bathroom or get a cup from across the room when he was injured. “I wasn’t the one helping him. He was helping me. He’ll be fine without me.” Draco attempted to close the door.

Ron put his arm out, stopping the door. “He won’t!” Draco glared at him, but it lacked the usual venom, concern taking its place. “I don’t know, maybe he can, but I can’t just sit around and wait for it to happen anymore. I’ll drop all my pettiness. Neither Hermione nor I will get in your way. Please, he’s our family. I’ll do anything.”

He paused and waited for Draco to say something, anything. Draco wouldn’t even look at him. His eyes were on the carpeted flooring of the hallway, his gaze so far away that it seemed like it was in another world. When he saw he wasn’t going to get anywhere, Ron pushed off the doorframe and stood straight. “Hermione’s at his house now. I need to go back. Please, just think about it.”

Ron didn’t waste his time waiting for a response. He started down the hall to get apparition cover in the stairwell. He moved slowly, hoping Draco would make up his mind and follow him. Alas, he heard the door close, and when he looked back, Draco was nowhere to be seen.

Ron scoffed. “Coward.”

\---

After a brief cooldown and a mug of hot chocolate each, Ron and Hermione talked Harry into coming back to their flat for the night. He was a bit reluctant, not because he wanted to be at Grimmauld but because he knew he had a lot of explaining to do. They listened well. Neither appeared to fully understand, but they tried their hardest. Honestly, they were just relieved he was admitting he had a problem for once.

They all slept a little easier that night. Harry almost considered the couple’s familiar, lumpy sofa to be comfortable for once.

Ron and Hermione typically made a point of at least having Sundays off, and they urged Harry to stay with them for it. He agreed but needed some things from Grimmauld like a shower and a change of clothes.

He took the Floo. Kreacher bounded into sight before Harry could even take a step away from the mantel. “Master, you have a visitor. They are waiting for you in the drawing-room.”

Harry frowned. A visitor? Ron and Hermione were his only usual visitors. Anyone else would have sent a letter in advance, and only former Order members knew how to find his house without directions, of which there were few left. The Minister? McGonagall? Molly?

He bounded up the steps towards the ground floor. He rounded the corner with Walburga’s portrait, ignoring her grumblings, and went up the next flight. Upon first glance into the drawing-room, he thought Kreacher was playing a prank on him. It didn’t look like anyone was there. He stepped into the doorway and scanned the room.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Draco?” his voice was weak as if he was scared that speaking too loud would scare Draco away.

He’d been starting to believe he wouldn’t see that white-blond head again. Draco had his back to him, examining the Black tapestry, and suddenly Harry was transported back to the first time Draco had helped him. How close they’d been as they embraced one another in the corridor just above his head. He wished he could go back to then. There were several choices he would have changed between then and now.

Draco turned his head, but Harry could only see a sliver of his eye. Draco studied him for a brief moment before turning his attention back to the tapestry. He traced the gold thread between his own portrait and his parents’ with a feather-light touch. “I love my parents,” his finger followed the ribbon with his father’s name, “but they are the ones who taught me that loving something does not mean I should allow it to hurt me. They tried to teach me arrogance, which they called pride, but what I really learned was respect. I learned what happens when you listen and follow someone who does not have respect for you in return.”

He dropped his hand. A moment passed as he appeared to continue to examine the fabric longer. In actuality, he was collecting his courage. He sucked in a deep breath, pulling his shoulders up tall and wiping off any emotions on his face.

He turned to Harry. “And clearly, you have none for me, or you wouldn’t have sent someone else to apologize for you.”

The shimmer in Harry’s eyes gradually faded. His brows knitted together. “What are you talking about?”

Draco scoffed loudly. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You sent Weasley to my flat last night. Honestly, you should have at least sent Granger. At least she can make a logical argument and not some fabricated emotional rubbish about you needing me.”

Harry took a step forward into the room, still frowning as he shook his head. “I didn’t-”

Draco’s pinched expression began to release. “You didn’t send him.” He wasn’t sure whether to be shocked that Ron came to the flat of his own volition, that he meant what he said, or that Harry wasn’t the one who sent him. The last one bubbled to the surface quickest. “You didn’t even _attempt_ to apologize.”

Draco shook his head rapidly. A bitter chortle left his lips. “I should have known.” He started towards the door. “You never apologize. Let me through.” Harry had stepped into his path.

“I didn’t think I deserved to apologize.” Draco glared at the exit over Harry’s shoulder, but he didn’t try to push past. Harry took this as permission to continue. “I crossed a line, and I regretted it the moment I heard it come out of my mouth. I wanted to turn around and apologize before I was even out of the building.”

“I waited for you to,” Draco abruptly interjected. It stumped Harry for a moment. A painful image of Draco waiting for him by the door filling his mind and making his chest ache.

“I was afraid you would actually forgive me,” Harry muttered. Draco snapped his gaze to meet Harry’s. Before the blonde’s imagination could get the best of him, Harry continued, “The day you found this room for the first time. The day you helped me.” Draco flinched at the phrase, which was so similar to Ron’s pleadings. “I was scared to hurt you. I didn’t just mean physically. I’ve been so scared that I would eventually hurt you, and then I did, and I didn’t want you to forgive me for it.

“Everyone forgives me for everything. I could get away with murder ― hell, I have ― and no one would bat an eye. But I didn’t want to get away with hurting you, and I didn’t want you to forgive me because it would be practically giving me permission to do it again,” Harry swallowed, his mouth beginning to feel as dry as cotton, “and I would because that’s what I do. I hurt people, and they call me a hero for it. I- I can’t hurt you,” Harry’s throat was clenching up, making it hard for him to form proper words, but he tried. “I won’t.”

Draco’s eyes burned, but his chest burned hotter. “Have you ever considered that I feel the same way?”

“Wha-“

“I don’t want to see you hurt either. Why do you think it drove me mad that you wouldn’t let me help you? You’re all that I’ve got, Harry. Physically or emotionally, it hurts me to see you hurt.

“And trust me, I know you’re a stubborn arse. I would not have forgiven you lightly, but I still didn’t expect you to actually walk out the door.” To Draco’s aggravation, tears began to cloud the rim of his vision, but he kept going on. “I almost followed you just to make sure you could get home okay on your own. If it wasn’t for my damn anxiety, I would follow you every time you leave the house because I am never certain you are going to come back.

“First being an Auror and then the drinking. I was going insane. I’m sorry I overreacted at times, but if something happened to you...” He had to swallow his emotions in an attempt to keep his voice still. “I don’t think they would even let me into the funeral.” The tears finally fell over his red cheeks.

Something cold and deep shook through Harry. So many times, he’d thought of dying but never of the funeral, never of what would happen after and who he would leave behind. Why had he been so stupid? He always knew he was capable of hurting the people around him, but he never considered that he could hurt them by not being around.

Harry felt something trail down to his own chin, but he barely considered it. He reached out to grasp Draco’s face in both of his hands, sweeping his thumbs under the other man’s eyes.

Draco overlapped his hands with his own. The tears sprung from his eyes more freely than he meant for them. He was too embarrassed to meet Harry’s gaze again. “Please,” he whimpered, “stop being an idiot. Don’t just decide what’s best for everyone else on your own.”

Harry nodded, a few more of the droplets in his own eyes shaking loose. “I have been an idiot.”

“Yes, you have.”

“I’m sorry.”

A shaky breath wracked Draco’s body. “You can’t leave again.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Dray...”

Draco looked up. His light eyes shimmered, peering at Harry with painful innocence. Harry’s already troubled lungs suddenly began to malfunction even more. It seemed to be playing a joint prank with his heart because he could feel his chest clench.

He meant to promise he wouldn’t leave again, but these words had vanished from his tongue. He could still do it but in a different way.

It seemed Draco had caught on to his thoughts because his eyes flickered to Harry’s lips. This was the only permission he needed. He leaned forward.

It felt like electricity was coursing through their bodies. Their hearts jittered in their chests, and it was sourced from the connection of their lips.

They pulled back instantaneously. The kiss had been short and simple, both of their minds still whirling from what they had both just felt. They stared blearily at one another, blinking through their hazy thoughts as they tried to guess what the other was thinking.

When a second passed, and neither had said anything or pushed away, they both leaned forward once again. Harry pulled Draco’s face to his, Draco’s fingers twisting with his.

This time the kiss wasn’t as mild. Both of them fed off the electricity, moving like they were hungry for more. Draco started to back up until he felt the grand piano press against his back; it only gave cause for Harry to press on him harder, which is what Draco had wanted. He let go of Harry’s hands to snake his arms around his neck. Harry kept one hand on his face; the other slid down his back, attempting to feel as much as he could.

Harry broke apart first, but it wasn’t to stop. He trailed kisses all along Draco’s jaw, following the curve down to his neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” he hummed against Draco’s collar bone. It sent a shiver down his spine. He twisted his fingers firmly into the other man’s messy tresses.

It was only when Harry hit a sweet spot and Draco heard his own moan in the air that Draco found some sort of focus.

He blinked up at the ceiling, still feeling Harry’s lips pepper his neck. The ceiling was unusually low, not just from a building standpoint but as if it had sunk with age. It wasn’t a wild thought considering how old the house was. The house. Grimmauld. They were in Grimmauld. Draco was making out with Harry Potter in his ancestral home.

“Wait! Wait, stop!” Draco pushed on Harry’s chest with great effort, not because Harry wouldn’t listen but because his own body didn’t want to listen either.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his voice husky and making this ten times harder for Draco.

“We have to stop.”

Harry frowned, his eyes accessing. Finally, he took a step back. “We’ll stop for now. If you don’t want to go too far, then-“

“No, no,” Draco shook his head violently, “that’s not what I meant. I mean, we can’t do this,” Harry still appeared confused, “at all!”

“What? Why not?” Harry practicality whimpered.

“Because they’re going to hate us,” said Draco, his voice just as weak as he felt. “Your friends could barely handle us being friends. What are they going to think? What is everyone going to think? They already hate me. I’m not dragging you into that.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do, Harry. You’ve always cared. You’re the savior, and you’re everyone’s hero, and I’m not going to let you ruin all of that just for me.”

“I want to.”

“They are going to think I enchanted you or gave you a love potion. They won’t believe it, and there will be people who will try to prove it or ruin us by trying. We’re Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. We’re the only people who can never truly hide from our world.”

“You just said I shouldn’t make decisions on my own. Why can you make this one on your own?”

“Because you’re horrible at making decisions. I can pick at least one incident for every year we were at Hogwarts that can prove that.”

The urge to argue was there, but Harry snapped his lips shut. They had just mended one disagreement. He didn’t want to start another.

Besides, Draco made good points. For once, he ignored his impulse to say fuck it. He wanted to. With everything in him, he wanted to. Draco was right, though. Harry could handle his own name being dragged through the mud, but Draco’s name had enough. Draco deserved some peace, and no one around Harry would ever have that. And if Draco honestly didn’t want this, then he wouldn’t force it.

However, if he was going to give in, he needed to do one last selfish thing, no matter how much worse it made the pain. “Can I kiss you one more time, please?”

Draco eyes him apprehensively. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Harry curled a finger under Draco’s chin; his eyes were trained hungrily on Draco’s lips like an animal looking at its next meal. “Probably not.”

Draco was just as weak as Harry. He couldn’t say no.

This kiss was not like either of the priors. It was not short, but it also wasn’t as ravenous as the last. They kissed slowly. Neither dared take a breath, letting their lungs ache, and lips bruise, trying to make it last longer. Both tried to take in every moment and every movement with as much attention to detail as possible. If this would be the final of their few kisses, they needed to commit it to memory as accurately as possible.

It was only when they both began to feel lightheaded that they finally tore apart. They gasped for air. Their heavy pants swirled the dust moats which lingered in the long-forgotten room. They would look as if they had both just run a marathon if it wasn’t for the fact that they were still tangled together, foreheads pressed together, Draco pushed against Harry, caged in by Harry’s arms on either side of him as he used the piano for support. Nevertheless, of all of Harry’s physical feats, this was the one he was now most proud of.

“Dinner?” Draco suggested. His breathing had leveled out, but it was still quite labored.

Harry pulled in a deep breath, supplying his lungs with just enough oxygen to manage a clear response, “Sounds good.” Draco shuttered, feeling the hum of the other man’s chest against his own with each horse word.

Using all of the willpower he could muster, he leaned his head back to put at least a little distance between them. “That means we have to move.”

“Not yet,” Harry whined, “please.” What was it about hearing Harry beg that made Draco so weak? He couldn’t even offer his voice to agree, let alone attempt to deny him. All he could do was nod.

Harry leaned forward, and for a moment, Draco thought he was going to kiss him. He didn’t lift his head, though. Instead, he tucked his face into the crook of Draco’s neck. It was an oddly familiar sensation. It reminded Draco of that day once again, when they embraced in the corridor upstairs, the first time Harry ever let someone comfort him.

Draco wrapped his arms around the other man’s back, holding him close. He buried his own face into Harry’s neck, taking in the burnt scent of Floo powder mixed with Harry’s cheap shampoo that he kept at Grimmauld and something sweeter that was purely Harry.

They stood there for what felt like was simultaneously hours and seconds. Much time had passed, but it was still not enough. They had to eventually break apart.

Neither entirely in their right minds yet, they decided to stay at Grimmauld for dinner. When they got down to the kitchen, they found a more annoyed-looking Kreacher than usual. “Master’s friends keep calling,” he grumbled. “They threatened to come over, but Kreacher has locked up the Floo.”

“What? Why would you-” Harry stopped. He glanced down at where he and Draco were still touching ― shoulder-to-shoulder, hands sliding against one another’s as they walked. Kreacher had likely saved him from a very awkward conversation. “Er, can you go over there and tell them I won’t be by.”

“If they ask for a reason?”

Harry glimpsed Draco’s falling gaze. Did he expect Harry to lie? There wasn’t a point anymore; Ron and Hermione knew they were friends. He wasn’t ashamed. “Tell them the truth.” Kreacher perked up a little. “Quickly, we’re having dinner here tonight.”

Kreacher bowed his head, his long nose touching his round belly. “Yes, Master.” And he snapped away into thin air.

They were barely settled at the table when the elf came back and instantly started on dinner. He actually looked pleased to have work to do. Draco and Harry talked a little, but they were mostly enjoying each other’s company.

Considering they had both agreed nothing new would happen between them, they were both being incredibly reluctant to stop touching in some way. It was as if they thought the moment they actually separated was the moment they officially had to be true to that promise, and neither was ready for that quite yet. They had been separated for over a week only to collide back together harder than ever before. Pulling them apart again was going to take a little work.

After their meal, Draco used minimal persuasion to talk Harry into going back to the flat with him. They walked. The rare, dry London night provided a unique opportunity. They listened to the rumble of the city. Cars slushing through the damp streets. Distant sirens. The muffled sound of a guitar paired with a deep voice from inside a lounge they passed. 

They eventually reached the apartment. When they got inside, they resumed their usual, nightly habit of sitting in front of the television; however, Harry didn’t go to his corner of the sofa. Instead, he remained pressed next to Draco. When it started getting late, Harry suggested that he go back to Grimmauld, but, to his great relief, Draco assured that he could stay like before.

“All of your things are still here anyway,” said Draco. “You’re fortunate, actually. I was about to throw it all out.”

A pout formed on his lips. “All of it?”

Draco paused to consider his question for a moment. “No, you bought a decent chessboard, and I rather not have to purchase new saucepans either.”

“Of course, that’s what you’d care about,” Harry muttered. Instead of dwelling on the topic, he decided to address a different issue. “What about sleeping in the same bed?”

Draco shrugged, keeping his face forward. “We’ve managed thus far.”

Harry’s pout became less playful and more genuine. How was Draco keeping such a cool expression? Harry was barely able to sit still. He couldn’t bring himself to move away from Draco, but, at the same time, each shared touch made him want to jump the other man. All of these built-up emotions and questions flying around in his head for a month, and now here they were, answered, but he couldn’t do anything about it. If Draco said no, he wouldn’t argue, but he really wished to change his mind.

Nevertheless, he was just happy to be back in the flat. He’d been beginning to believe he’d never see it again.

He got to his feet ― the brush of his hand against Draco’s thigh as he pushed himself up, not being the accident it seemed. “Then let’s go to bed.”


	17. Approval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I suddenly stopped updating. I was writing a chapter nearly daily and I got a little burnt out. I also started reading a beautiful Drarry fic called Running On Air and I lost all sense of responsibility so I could finish it. Anyways, this super long update should hopefully make up for it.

The pair fell back into their old habits without hitch. Harry didn’t go back to work until after his Monday appointment with Sow, who was delighted to see Draco’s return. She finally cleared him and sent him on his way but, to Draco’s surprise and gratitude, he didn’t head straight off to work that day after getting the news in the morning. Instead, he spent his last day off with Draco which was far less tense now that Draco didn’t have to be so worrisome and Harry was given all of his freedom back.

Another reason he possibly wanted to stay home was because he didn’t want to break their high. Ever since that night in Grimmauld, he and Draco had become undeniably closer. Neither of them brought up the matter again but they both thought about it. They considered it far more than either would let on, actually.

Despite appearances, neither returning to work or being back with Draco had not actually curbed Harry’s restlessness but he did put it towards something else now. He kept waiting for Draco to give in. For a touch or a look to set him off the way it did Harry. He tried not to be too obvious. Small touches and sweet comments. He got nothing in return. Draco just went about his days like nothing had happened between them.

That was, at least, what Harry assumed. Thankfully, Draco was a master at concealing his expressions and compartmentalizing his feelings. Nevertheless, Harry’s new ‘subtle’ affection was becoming painful. There was no longer space between them on the sofa, Harry often sitting as he did with his legs crossed and his knee overlapping Draco’s thigh. He was also very quick to help with stuff like opening jars or handing him something across the room, somehow always managing to make his touch linger. He was also pretty sure that Harry had moved closer to the center of the bed at night or maybe that was just his own subconscious action.

What really threw Draco off kilter was Harry’s last, uncertain attempt one day. After work he took a shower as usual only when he emerged from the bedroom, he only had a towel around his waist. Harry caught how wide Draco’s eyes had become and Draco mentally cursed at his own legs as they became jelly. He grabbed the counter to steady himself, deciding not to finish walking to the sofa as he planned. “Wh- What are you doing?” Draco tried to keep his voice level. He barely managed to keep from stumbling over his whole sentence.

Despite the other man’s cool expression, Harry knew he had finally got the reaction he was looking for. He smirked as he watched Draco’s eyes fallow the few droplets of water still clinging to his damp body and rolling down over his chest.

“I left my wand in my coat,” he gestured to the coat on the hanger by the door, “to dry my hair.”

“Well, get it,” Draco snapped harsher than usual, hoping it would speed Harry along so he could get the function of his brain back. “I’d prefer if you didn’t drip on my floors.”

“It’ll dry,” Harry assured as he began to take a very leisurely stroll to his coat. Draco didn’t look away when he moved, now mentally cursing his eyes as they appraised Harry’s backside. Had he somehow gotten more muscular since that heatwave that knocked his shirt off for nearly a week?

It should really be a sight Draco should be used to. He usually slept without a shirt anyway. However, their room was usually too dim to see details and he usually had on pants and trousers at the very least. A little jostling and that towel would be on the floor. A strong gust of wind perhaps? What was the spell for that again?

Harry turned towards him again. The movement caused Draco to jump out of his thoughts; he shook his head trying to regain some control on his own mind. Harry barely managed to conceal the growing grin on his face. “You okay?”

Draco swallowed down the lump in his throat. He looked down at his hand on the counter, nodding. “Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you look a little peaky.”

Draco hallowed his cheeks. He kept his gaze centered on one speck in the granite counter as he shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Go get dressed; I’ll heat up dinner.”

It was a good thing Draco was refusing to look up because Harry’s grin was face splitting. He turned back into the bedroom. Draco sighed in relief when he was no longer in sight.

It was official; Harry was trying to kill him.

This assumption was only confirmed when Harry returned but was still missing a key article of clothing. “Er, I think you’ve forgotten something,” Draco pointed out, trying with all his might not to stare at the shirtless man.

Harry gave a shrug. “I’m not going out to get dinner tonight so I didn’t think it was a big deal. Besides, it’s getting hotter. It feels amazing to not have all those layers on anymore. Why? Is it a problem?”

Draco swallowed down the cotton which was drying his throat. “No, no problem.”

They sat down to eat. The whole time consisted of Draco being a flustered mess while Harry smugly watched, feigning ignorance.

This continued. It wasn’t just the next day but the following as well and the one after that, and the weekend came and Harry was walking around without a shirt with loose joggers hanging off his hips and Draco was going absolutely mental. He finally made a rash attempt at revenge.

Harry was reclined in the bed, taking one last look at the case file he was working on while Draco was in the bathroom. The door opened. Harry looked up. His jaw dropped. Draco came waltzing out in one of his usual long-sleeve, slightly oversized tops but only the top. For a wild second, Harry thought he wasn’t wearing pants but he saw the tight material peak out when Draco moved the covers to slide into the bed.

“What- What are you wearing?” Harry stuttered unapologetically.

Draco glanced down at his sleeves then back at Harry, a cool, innocent expression smoothing his features. “What I always wear.”

“You’re missing something.”

“Oh, right,” Draco crossed his legs under the covers. “Well this is how I always used to sleep and in that week you were gone I realized how much I missed it. Besides, you’re right, it has started to get a lot hotter. You don’t mind, do you?”

Harry’s jaw twitched under the pressure of his bite. “No, not at all.” He dropped his file on the table beside the bed. “It’s your house; you can do as you please.” While his words were approving, his tone was acidic. He turned away from Draco, beating softness into his pillow before dropping down into it.

Draco smirked over him. “Goodnight,” he hummed.

Harry’s return was a far more moody, “Night.”

For the next week, it was Draco’s turn to drive Harry absolutely insane. It became a game of aggressive flirting. Harry would press Draco into the counter as he reached over the man to pull something out of a cupboard. In return, Draco would forget all sense of personal space on the sofa, resting his legs in Harry’s lap. It only escalated from then on. Every action led to flustered glares and smug smirks. It felt oddly like they were young again, trying to outdo one another, only now Harry didn’t even consider of complaining to his friends; he was left to suffer in silence.

Harry had reached his peak of tolerance one day when Draco walked out of the bedroom in nothing but pants and one of Harry’s shirts; Harry’s broader shoulders had stretched out the cotton leaving it to drape off of Draco’s shoulders though Draco was taller and therefore it didn’t quite reach his thighs like many of his own lounging sweaters did.

Draco was a master of putting on an innocent façade. He glanced between Harry’s wide eyes and slack jaw and what he wore. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s mine.” Harry’s voice was barely audible.

Draco’s brows shot up. “Is it? I thought the fit was a bit odd. It must have gotten mixed with mine in the wash. It’s quite comfortable though.”

Harry rose to his feet. “Take it off.” His words were low and rough, matching the dark look in his eyes.

The sweet innocence slipped off of Draco’s face as he rolled his eyes. He began to fiddle with the buttons. “Fine, if you’re going to make a big deal about it.”

He started to go back into the bedroom but paused when he saw Harry drawing nearer. The look in Harry’s eyes wasn’t that of a flustered, embraced man or even anger that Draco had touched his possessions. He looked more like a hunter eyeing prey.

“Harry?” he croaked.

Harry didn’t respond, continuing to approach. Draco’s heart was pounding in his ears. He stepped back only to back himself into the wall. One step to the left and he could slip away into the bedroom, he knew that. However, despite his words at Grimmauld, Draco wanted this just as much as Harry. He’d been a bit surprised that the notoriously stubborn Saint Potter had actually given in with such little argument. There was a moment when Draco assumed that Harry wasn’t actually as interested as Draco was. The look in Harry’s eyes now flattened all of those doubts.

A shaky breath fell out of Draco’s lips. They were finally chest to chest. Harry’s eyes were not on Draco’s face but the shirt which Draco had begun to unbutton. He reached for the next button down, beginning to pull it free as well. “Harry,” Draco breathed, “we really shouldn’t.”

Draco’s words had the opposite affect he meant for them. The sound of his name on Draco’s breath only sent Harry spiraling further. Harry lost focus on the buttons. He secured one arm around Draco’s waist, yanking him, as he buried his face into his collar. Draco had to grab the doorframe to keep from wrapping his arms around the other man.

Everything was warm. Every hair on their bodies stood on end. Hearts pounded. Gasps flew through the air. Draco was becoming weaker by the second. If he was strong he’d actually get Harry to stop, but he didn’t want him to. Maybe it was time Draco did something impulsive for once.

_Tap! Tap!_

The pair tore apart. Harry threw himself into the opposing wall. They both snapped their heads in the direction of the sound.

It didn’t come from the front door.

There was an eagle-owl tapping on the sliding glass door, a letter tied around its foot. Draco stared at the owl in horror. He knew who it belonged to and having her owl stare at him felt equivalent to the woman herself standing on his balcony. He scrambled to the door, pulling on the shirt in an attempt to cover up some of his dignity.

He opened the door. The owl sored in and perched on the back of one of dining chairs. Draco untied the letter and the owl instantly flew off, not giving Draco a chance to respond. She did that on purpose. She knew he’d try to talk her away if she allowed it.

“Who is it?” Harry said curtly. He already hated whoever it was on principal for interrupting them.

Draco barely had to skim to the letter to know what it was saying. “My mother’s coming.”

Harry eyes widened. His gaze darted around the room. “Right now?” He was only in joggers and in a horrible state at that. If that prim woman apparated into the room right now, Harry was screwed.

“No, tomorrow.”

All of Harry’s muscles eased instantly. He tilted his head at Draco. “Oh, okay. What’s wrong with that?”

Draco shook his head rapidly. “This- This place is a mess.” He dropped the letter on top of a stack of papers on the table and started to carry them in a straight path towards the garbage.

“Whoa, wait!” Harry exclaimed, taking the papers from Draco. “That’s my case.”

“Fine, just keep it off the table,” Draco snapped. He spun away and started towards the living area, mumbling about the dirty glass and books on the coffee table.

Harry dropped his file on the counter and went after Draco, pulling him forward to face him again. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He bent down, trying to catch Draco’s eye. “It’s just your mum, right?”

He nodded but was still visibly distracted. “Yes but this place is a mess. We have to get it cleaned up before she gets here.”

Harry bit his lip. “We’ve still got time. Why don’t we do something else until then?”

Draco began to pull out of his grip. “We need to clean.”

Harry’s heart dropped; all of his hopes tumbled down with it. He knew it had been a shot in the dark but he’d been hoping to hit something. “Okay, we’ll clean.” He released Draco and the other man instantly jumped into a cleaning frenzy.

Draco was a neat person. He was the type to fold and put away his clothes as soon as they were cleaned. He nagged Harry to do the dishes when it was his night to do them. He never let the garbage bin get too full. However, Harry had never seen him quite like this.

He cleared and scrubbed the whole flat in one evening. Harry attempted to get him to settle down when it started to get later but he would continually get up to fix something else until Harry just gave up. By midnight, Harry simply grabbed sleepily muttering Draco and took him to the bedroom. Without any ulterior motive, Harry held him throughout the night. For nearly an hour, he could feel the other man still buzzing to get up and do something but Harry refused to let him skip out on sleep.

Had this been what it was like for Draco trying to deal with Harry that week? He could see why Draco had begun to lose his patience.

* * *

A muffled clatter lulled Harry out of his rest. He levered an eye open. The room was still very dark with the exception of the light which leaked in from under the door. A shadow moved passed the crack and Harry’s mind jumped to alertness. One hand grabbed his glasses while the other reached for the spot beside him. He frowned when he didn’t feel anything beside him. With a few blinks through the magnified glass, his sleepy brain began to connect the dots.

He let out a long sigh. Of course Draco had gotten up already.

There weren’t any voices so Harry assumed Narcissa hadn’t arrived yet. He dropped his feet onto hardwood and eased out into the living area, a yawn ripping through him as he opened the door.

Draco was casting a _Scourgify_ on the windows. “The-sun’s barely up,” Harry muttered, the first part of his sentence still caught in his yawn. He pushed up his glasses to wipe his watery eyes. “Does she usually check your place with a white glove or something?”

“I just want it to look nice,” Draco responded, his voice tight. “I don’t want to give her any reason to worry.”

That was understandable enough. Narcissa had always been rather doting when it came to her son – she reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia in that way – he couldn’t imagine seeing Draco in the state that Harry had found him in was ever comforting to her.

Deciding not to attempt any input or argument, Harry turned towards the kitchen. “Tea?”

Draco spun around. He eyed the kettle as if it had personally offended him. “If you clean and put them away as soon as we’re done with them.”

Harry gave a half-hearted salute. “Yes, sir.” Draco rolled his eyes and resumed looking for a mess where there was none.

When the tea was ready, Harry managed to talk Draco into sitting out on the balcony with him. They watched in silence as the sun rose over the London skyline. The soft chirp of early morning birds gradually turned into a low hum as the city began to wake.

Harry watched a young couple accompanied by an older woman walk down the street. She held the man’s arm though she appeared to be in conversation with the young woman who was smiling and nodding politely. He watched them until they vanished into the small restaurant on the corner. Breakfast with the in-laws, Harry thought offhandedly.

He straightened. “Does she know about,” Harry hesitated, not sure how to classify it, “about me staying here?”

Harry only received a small sipping sound in response as Draco brought his mug to his lips. Harry raised a brow at Draco whose gaze was locked on a distant vantage point.

“Is that what this is all about?” Was Draco such a wreck because he was scared of what his mother was going to think when she found out about…about whatever they were? He wouldn’t be offended if they had to say they were just friends. That’s what they agreed on anyway. Harry had helped them before, it couldn’t sound too strange.

Draco took a long time to respond. He kept his gaze forward, continuing to sip at his tea until he ran out. Having nothing else to occupy him, he finally shook his head. “She knows some of it. I can’t lie to her well.”

Harry eased a bit but he still didn’t feel quite right. Something was still off. “Then what’s wrong?”

His gaze had fallen from the horizon to his empty cup. He clutched it like there was still something warm steaming inside. “Nothing, I’ve told you, I only want the flat to look nice.”

Draco pushed off of the railing and held out his cup to Harry. “Clean these then go get dressed,” he ordered. “Wear something presentable.”

“When don’t I?”

Draco looked up and down the man’s shirtless form, pausing on the worn joggers where the elastic was becoming loose. “I mean when there are other people around,” Harry urged.

“Just put something on, and not one of your old t-shirts,” he added, jabbing an accusatory finger in Harry’s direction.

“If you keep telling me what to wear I’ll just say fuck it and strip down to nothing.”

Draco’s face was smacked with red. His eyes went wide and he tried to look as angry as possible. “I’ll call the authorities on you for indecency.”

“Wizarding or muggle?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe both. I’ll throw in Pansy so she can write a nice piece on the madness of Harry Potter for the Prophet too.”

“That’s just cold.”

“Then put on proper clothes.”

“Fine,” Harry groaned as if Draco was asking him to do a heavy load of chores.

He followed the other man back into the flat and cleaned up the mugs as instructed. Leaving the cups to dry beside the sink, he went back to the bedroom to change. He settled for a button down and some of better kept jeans. Draco was a bit apprehensive about the jeans but let it slide when Harry threatened wearing nothing again.

Narcissa hadn’t specified what time she was coming so when she had yet to make an appearance by ten o’clock, Draco began to flutter around even more – if possible.

“Dray, Dray,” Harry cooed. He held Draco’s wrist, keeping him from walking away from the sofa to ‘fix’ something else. “It’s fine. Everything looks great. Sit.”

Draco’s face was twisted in a grimace but he slowly sat back down. Harry didn’t let go of him. In the contrary, he twisted their fingers together, keeping a tight hold on him while simultaneously running soothing shapes over the back of his palm with his thumb.

Gradually, Draco began to ease into at least a slight degree of calm. Just as he began to lean more into Harry there was as sharp knock on the door.

Draco sprung to his feet. Harry was only beginning to stand up when he reached the door and jerked it open.

“Hello, Mother,” Draco greeted rather formally.

There was silence. Harry slowly inched towards the door, trying to look around Draco to see if the woman was actually there. He could see a small, emerald-clad frame from over Draco’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he should come up and greet her right away or wait until they were in the flat and Draco was ready but the continued silence was pulling his curiosity.

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry greeted, finally spotting her pale face. Her wide, bright eyes snapped away from her son to the man lingering behind him. Her thin lips parted.

“Mother?” Draco asked carefully.

She looked to her son again. A dozen emotions flashed across her eyes before she finally pulled on a delicate smile. “Hello, dear.” She reached forward for an embrace, her eyes skipping over the young man’s body once more before she closed the gap. “You look wonderful!”

Draco became flushed. It increased when she gave him a tight squeeze – for once not fearing that she might break her own son. It was a longer hug than she normal gave. Draco had to be the one to finally pull away. “Please, come in.”

He guided her into the flat, taking her coat for her.

Her eyes darted to Harry first. She studied him for a brief moment with muddled apprehension. Something behind him seemed to catch her attention. It was the small shelving unit beside the mantel which Draco was using to store the potion ingredients Harry bought him. She began to scan the rest of the flat. Everything was very neat and clean but there was color. Red pillow covers clashed with the green throw blanket on the sofa. A bright yellow timer sat on the kitchen counter, beside it a rack of colorful spices. Pictures and notes were stuck to the fridge by magnets, most of which were free ones given out from businesses. It all just looked…lived in.

Tears began to well in Narcissa's eyes. Draco snapped his head back, scanning the room. He spotted the two mugs sitting beside the sink. Fury pumped in his chest. "I told you to put away those cups!"

Harry's eyes widened with panic. He spun around to look at the kitchen. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I'll do it right-"

He started to rush to the kitchen but she grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "No, no," she said through an odd combination of tears and laughter. Before he could question her, she pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

He never would have thought this small woman was so strong. "Thank you," she whimpered into his shoulder. "Thank you for helping my son."

"Mother!"

Harry relaxed into the embrace. It felt a bit awkward but he slowly hugged her back. “He helped me a lot too.” He looked over the woman’s head to the blushing man still by the door. It only made Draco even more flustered.

“I’ll- I’ll start the kettle.” Draco fumbled into the kitchen. He overturned the mugs Harry had yet to put away and grabbed another from the cupboard.

“Would you like a seat, Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry gestured to the sofa.

She waved a hand as she followed his guiding hand. “No one calls me that much anymore, Narcissa will do.”

The clatter from the kitchen pulled Harry’s gaze away. Draco bounced on the balls of his feet as he gave a sharp shake to his hand. When he brought the end of his finger to his lips Harry realized he must have burnt it on the heating kettle. It wasn’t like Draco to be so clumsy.

Though it appeared Draco had some reservations about the matter, Harry wasn’t about to deny the woman. “All right, Narcissa. You can call me Harry then.”

“I already do,” he gave her a perplexed look, “it’s what Draco calls you in his letters. I’ll admit, I assumed for a while that he he was taking about a different Harry. I never would have dreamed...” She fell silent, her eyes assessing her surroundings once more. “I suppose I really shouldn’t be surprised actually. He always did like taking about you. Drove Lucius mad.”

“Mother!” Draco squawked again.

She reacted faintly, as if she’d just been shaken out of a daydream, muttering an apology. However, her eyes danced with knowledge Harry found himself desperate to know.

Silence fell across everyone in the room. They listened to the soft roll of water in the kettle as it gradually grew to a boil. Narcissa’s eyes continued to roam the flat. There were potion ingredients but there were also muggle items she didn’t know the name of and things she knew her son would never purchase of his own volition. Another person lived here. It wasn’t just casual nights on the sofa to save a friend from having to go home late either, though the letters she had received had made it seem this way.

It was Pansy who had broken the news to her. They had started frequent correspondents months ago when Draco moved away on his own, mostly to exchange notes on how he was doing when either one visited and to be certain someone was making an appearance at least once a month.

Draco had mentioned Harry’s occasional visits. Nevertheless, it was after Pansy’s visit in May that she told Narcissa that they wouldn’t have to worry as much anymore, that Harry Potter was taking care of him. Narcissa had read the letter a dozen times, attempting to come up with any other person named Harry Potter. What were the chances it was someone else though?

Pansy had made several inferences about their relationship and it had taken this long for Narcissa to come to terms with it. Before she did, however, she decided she had to see it for herself. She thought she’d have to dig harder. She thought her son would try to hide it. Here he was though, scolding Harry Potter for not doing the dishes properly. He’d grown so much. Once again, Harry Potter had let her see her son.

“Draco spent the whole morning cleaning for you,” Harry said, dropping his voice and leaning towards her to keep Draco out of the conversation. He was busy sifting through the tea tin. “Honestly, the way he was acting I assumed you’d check his work with a white glove.”

Narcissa glances around. There wasn’t a spec of dirt. She sighed. “He cleans when he’s nervous. That and I think my presence reminds him of his father - children often think of their parents as a unit.”

Harry tilted his head. “And Lucius would check his work?”

Narcissa kept her eyes forward. Her mouth became thin. “He can be a harsh man. Draco has a tendency to be overzealous when trying to impress him. He is one of Draco most avid supporters but also his greatest critic. That’s how all parents are though, aren’t they?”

Harry’s immediate response would have been, “I wouldn’t know,” but he held his tongue, he knew it wouldn’t come across well. Instead, he nodded politely.

She fell quiet again, her thoughts becoming distant but her gaze still flicked around the room. Harry wanted to ask more questions but he was overly aware of Draco only a few meters away. The tea was soon prepared and Draco joined them, levitating three mugs ahead of him.

“How is Lorena?” Draco asked as he took the usually forgotten armchair, despite Harry moving over to give room beside him. Harry’s face fell. Draco ignored it. Narcissa studied it out of the corner of her eye.

“Lovely,” Narcissa answered. She recentered on her son, drawing effort to provide a less lukewarm response. “You should come stay with us some time, you always liked Versailles.”

“As a visitor, yes,” Draco nodded, “but I don’t think I could live there. Too many tourists.”

“No more than London, and the weather is lovely. The summer especially, not a cloud in the sky, cool nights and just the right amount of heat in the day.” Seeing that the weather conditions weren’t going to persuade Draco anytime soon, she quickly changed tact. “Lorena has plenty of room. She keeps asking about you. She says she rather have you live with us than have to constantly listen to me worry.”

“It’s not my fault you worry so much. I have told you repeatedly not to. I’m okay here.”

“You aren’t though. You need to get out of this flat, eat a real meal. You need to enjoy your life.”

“I do leave,” Draco snapped.

She sat back, looking dumbfounded. “Really?”

He nodded. “We go to a cafe every Saturday and I occasionally go along to the shop, and Harry is a decent cook. I’m okay.”

Narcissa’s instinct was to argue but her eyes flickered to Harry. She supposed that wasn’t a lie anymore. He did appear to be okay now.

Harry’s face was still down turned. He listened without comment but it was clear on his face he didn’t like what he was hearing. France did sound nice and it might even be good for Draco to go. However, where would that leave Harry?

Narcissa seemed to read this. “Harry can come as well.”

Both boys perked up. “Are you sure?” Never in a million years would have thought he’d be invited along to vacation with the Malfoys. She had to be joking or trying to trick Draco into it without seriously meaning to extend the offer.

“If that will get you there, then yes,” she said to Draco as if he’d been the one to ask. “I miss my son. I don’t like thinking about you all alone in this apartment.”

Draco crosses his legs, the toe of his shoe rubbing along the side of the sofa, centimeters from Harry’s leg. “I’m not alone.”

She gave one more fleeting look to the VCR tapes beneath the television. “I see that.” She turned back to the boys. “A few days wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just to give your mother some comfort.”

Draco sighed. He looked to Harry who still appeared to not believe this was an honest offer. “We’ll think about it.”

* * *

The conversation was taken over by Narcissa and Draco. Harry sat quietly, sipping away at his tea as he let the pair catch up. It was an oddly polite conversation. Nothing like the talks he heard between Molly and her children, which usually involved input from various others nearby, and Molly would just as easily bicker with them as she did listen to their woes. Petunia and Dudley were a closer comparison but still not right, at least not anymore. Petunia often talked to Dudley like was still four-years-old while Dudley either stomped his foot justifying her treatment or barely paid her any attention. Narcissa and Draco appeared more like old acquaintances rather than mother and son. Harry wondered if it was possible for them to have ever really gotten to know each other while they had all of that space between them in the manor.

After nearly three full, consecutive cups of tea, Draco was the first to concede to the bathroom. Silence lingered behind him and Harry thought it would remain until returned. Only a second after his departure, he found that he was wrong.

“Do you care about my son?”

Harry blinked at her a few times, not sure where such an abrupt question came from. Nevertheless, he answered honestly and without further hesitation, “Yes.”

She tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed. “As only a friend or something else?”

Harry couldn’t find voice to answer that. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

She nodded solemnly. His silence was answer enough. “There are many doctrines I was raised to believe in. For all my life I have supported them. That is until my son was threatened. I defied my husband’s wishes to find help for our son when he was sent away with an impossible task; I lied to the Dark Lord and aided in losing the war so that I may see my son again. For my child, I will defy every belief I once held dear. All I want is to see is him happy and healthy and if you can do that, no matter the way in which it comes about, then I approve.”

Harry wasn’t sure why but that felt like quite the accomplishment. Like a weight had been lifted. However, he could still feel a few pounds on his back.

“Do you think his father will ever approve?” Harry knew Draco cared of his mother’s opinion but it was Lucius who he always spoke of when they were growing up. He was the one who Draco looked up to the most.

Narcissa’s face fell in a way that answered Harry’s question without words, but she went on. “Lucius is a difficult man. He doesn’t like change anymore. He did once, when we were young and he was chasing a distant dream,” her hand went to the pearl pendent around her neck, her gaze glossing over, “but that dream turned into a nightmare and it swallowed him whole. To have his approval now would be to have Draco hiding from his own shadow. Alive but not well...”

Her eyes pinched for a second as the end of her distant thoughts came into sight before she returned to the present. She dropped her hand from her necklace. “If I am honest, I don’t think he should be looking for either of our approval anymore. I would prefer that he approve of himself.” She surveyed the doorway which Draco had vanished through. “I fear that he never did before.”


	18. Guest of Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long break equals long chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Narcissa’s visit left Harry even less certain than he had been before. Draco appeared to return to his regular behavior but he would occasionally become distracted, not that Harry blamed him. Their flirty game fizzled out without either really noticing, too busy overthinking other things.

Harry simply didn’t know how to go about things. Having Narcissa’s approval was reassuring but approval for what exactly? Harry and Draco had never actually had a proper conversation about it. He considered telling Draco what Narcissa had said but he felt that wouldn’t end well. He couldn’t see Draco finding comfort in them talking behind his back.

He tried to go about his days regularly. Work kept his mind busy during the day. It also kept his home life at ease as Draco maintained his title of informant - together they solved twice as many cases as a whole team of Auror’s could in one week. At first, Ron was bitter now that he knew where Harry was getting his information from, but he quickly began to accept it, even relying on it occasionally - asking if Harry could run his own theory’s by Draco.

Harry expected that he was coming to share another one of these theories for their latest case when he came up to his desk while Harry was packing up. “I don’t know if my informant,” no one besides Ron and Robards knew ho Harry’s informant was, “will know anything about petty theft. Fletcher will probably be a better source if we can track him down.”

“What? Oh yeah, I’ve already put out search warrant for him.” Ron dropped into spare seat beside Harry’s desk which was meant for interviewees. “I actually wanted to invite you over to the burrow next weekend.”

Harry sat back in his chair. He raised a brow. “Why?” He didn’t remember any holidays coming up. It was only July. Ginny’s team was doing great so it wasn’t the end of the season yet.

Ron gave him an incredulous look. By now he was used to Harry not thinking about it but he figured his friend would catch on by now. “Your birthday party!”

“Oh, right!”

Ron sighed. He shook his head, trying to push away the exasperated yet pitying look on his face.

Harry had yet to develop an expectation for his birthday. It was only the fourth summer of his life that he hadn’t spend at the Dursley’s and therefore had anyone around that acted as though it was a remotely significant day.

He hadn’t entirely forgotten about it but his plans were minimum to say the least. “Honestly, I was just going to spend it at home. Maybe take the day off.”

“By home,” Ron narrowed his eyes, “do you mean at Malfoy’s?”

That was what he meant. It wasn’t as if he ever went to Grimmauld anymore except for his usual mail run and to checkup on Kreacher.

Taking the day off was the most he had planned for the day and it seemed like a sizable gift to himself. A lazy day with Draco sounded great. It wasn’t much unlike how they’d spent Draco’s birthday.

Pansy had saved his life by sending her gift for Draco to Grimmauld with a note that instructed Harry to hand it off and give a not-so-sly prod that Harry should find something as well. He stopped off in Diagon Alley on his way home that night where he came across a small music box which was decorated in runes and a serpent like dragon twisted on the lid; when opened, a melodic tune would play accompanied by a tiny, statuette dragon which let out a puff of blue fire at the end of the song. He hadn’t been sure if it was Draco’s taste but he’d been desperate. His doubts had eradicated when Draco hugged him for nearly a full five minutes after opening it. He never explained why he liked it so much but Harry always felt proud whenever he spotted the box sitting front and center on the mantel.

“Yes, I mean Draco’s” Harry said calmly.

“Don’t you two spend enough time together?” Harry leveled a look his way. Ron quickly put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just concerned about your well-being. You already scrapped her coming home party after your accident, I don’t think you can survive skiving out on another. She’ll likely show up at Malfoy’s and pull you out by the ear. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“You know, I’m starting to believe your mum is your boggart.”

Ron tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hm, tough call. It would have to be tied with a cross Hermione.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “You have a point there.”

“And they’ll both be cross if you don’t come to your own party,” Ron snapped, not taking Harry’s bait to change subject. “Please, mate, for my sanity, just come to the party.”

Harry shook his head. “I already told Draco I was staying home with him.” That was a downright lie but it was the best he could come up with on the spot.

Ron pursed his lips. He didn’t appear at all moved by this excuse but he relented nonetheless. “Fine,” he straightened, “if that’s what you really want. It’s your birthday.”

“It is.”

* * *

The weekend came and went. Harry arrived at work precisely on time. He was just putting his things on his desk when a puff of red hair approached out of the corner of his eye.

“Mum says you can bring him?”

Harry straightened. He turned to his most trusted friend and partner and stared at him as if he was talking about a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. His eyes narrowed a fraction, appearing to be considering if Ron needed to be taken to the psychiatric ward of Saint Mungo’s. “Sorry?”

Ron’s face soured. He took in a deep breath, apparently pained that he’d have to say it again. “You can invite the pointy git to your birthday party.”

Harry had finally caught on. He became as still as a board. A wonderer who happened upon a wild animal, or a chance, fearful that it would run away if he confronted it to quickly. “Really?”

“It’s your day,” Ron lifted on shoulder in a short shrug as he pondered the contents of Harry’s desk, “if that’s what you want then fine. Mum just wants you to be happy.”

“And what does everyone else say?”

Ron sighed. He looked back at Harry, his expression tight. “Angelina promised to keep George on relatively good behavior. I don’t know if anyone’s told Bill or Charlie but Percy won’t argue with Mum. Dad doesn’t mind.”

“And Ginny?” Harry wasn’t sure why he asked. Maybe it was habit. She hadn’t come to his last two birthdays nor any real event other than Christmas. Even Charlie was around more and he lived in another country.

He knew the answer. It was confirmed by the fall of Ron’s face. He didn’t need to hear the words. “She’s not sure if she’s coming. She has a big game this week that she’s practicing for.”

Harry nodded once. “Right.” He could feel the sympathy coming off of Ron - and maybe even the margin of hope.

He dropped down into his chair, continuing to sort things out. “I’ll let him know.”

“So you’ll be there?”

Harry opened his mouth to agree instantly but paused. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I need to ask first.”

Ron started to smile as if it was a joke then stopped when Harry looked to his things again like the conversation was over. He was serious. He was actually going to consider something before agreeing to it. “Oh, okay then. Let me know.”

Harry nodded half-heartedly, not looking up. Ron gave him one last odd look. He didn’t know what it was but something felt off.

* * *

“Are you absolutely positive she agreed to this? Molly Weasley said the words ‘Draco Malfoy is invited to the party’?” Draco hadn’t stopped searching for reassurance since the night before when Harry reminded him about the party. He had accepted the invite far easier the first time Harry brought it up Monday night. However, it appeared he had expected it to be withdrawn before the weekend actually came.

“I don’t know if she said those exact words,” Harry said carefully, “but Ron said you were invited.”

Draco slid him a shrewd look. “Since when is Weasley a reliable source?”

Harry leveled a look on him. “And those are the types of comments we won’t be making.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

They both turned back to the large fireplace in Grimmauld’s kitchen. The Burrow was just out of range for comfortable apparition so they had to Floo there. Draco wasn’t entirely comfortable with popping into the middle of their house suddenly but it was less hassle than acquiring a portkey. Seeing his discomfort, Harry had insisted that they sit for a cup of tea with Kreacher before they left to calm him but it only prolonged the inevitable. Despite his hard glare, Draco’s hands were balled into trembling fists at his sides.

Harry took his hand. It continued to shudder involuntarily but his mind stilled. He looked to Harry with wide, uncertain eyes. “Are you sure you want to go?” Harry gave his hand a small squeeze. “I can tell them you’re sick. I’ll make an appearance and be back in an hour.”

Draco’s immediate instinct was to agree. He wanted nothing more than to hide away in the flat just as he was content to do every other day. However, he could still remember the way Harry had looked at him when he first brought up this party. He’d made an attempt to bring it up casually but he kept fiddling with his chopsticks – Draco should have known something was going on when they got his favorite takeaway. Several months ago, Draco would have shot down such a proposition in an instant but he could tell that Harry wanted to go. The way he lit up when Draco agreed only proved his point. He couldn’t let him down now.

“No, no,” Draco urged. “I’m certain that’s what they want.” He ignored the sharp look from Harry. “And it’s your own party; they would never let you stay for only an hour. Not that I couldn’t survive without you for that long.”

Harry raised a brow. “Could you?”

Draco suddenly looked scandalized. “I do just fine without you while you’re at work. You do realize that not everything revolves around you, Saint Potter, right?”

There was no malice in his tone and it made Harry smile. His eyes inadvertently grazed over the other man’s lips. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Draco noticed his glance and felt his face begin to heat. He did not need to have those types of thoughts just before he showed up at the Weasley’s. “We should get going.”

Harry shook out of his own imagination and finally nodded. He released Draco’s hand. “I’ll go first. Remember, it’s the Burrow in Ottery St Catchpole in Devon.”

There was slight expectation to Draco’s nod though he was silently grateful to have clarification. His heart had been too loud the first time Harry had told him the location.

“Just give me five minutes, okay? And make sure to pronounce it properly.”

“Yes, yes, I know how to Floo even if it has been a while. This isn’t muggle technology you have to teach me.”

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m being paranoid, aren’t I?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Just go, Potter, or I’ll shove you in and send you Merlin knows where.”

“All right, I’m going, see you in five.”

Harry stepped into the fireplace, powder in hand, and announced his desired destination loudly and clearly before whirling away and in emerald flames.

The green color faded from his vision and instead he soon found the warm colors and various patterns of the Burrow before him. The plump woman bustling around the kitchen spun around at the sound of the Floo. Her face instantly lit up at the sight. “Harry, there you are!” Molly Weasley left her station at the stove to give the man the type of hug only a mother could give.

“Hello, Molly. Thank you for doing all of this for me,” he said as he returned her embrace, “you know you didn’t have to.”

She pulled away only to swat at him. “Oh hush, of course I did. Everyone deserves a cake on their birthday, even if we didn’t do it on the actual day.”

Harry’s birthday had been Tuesday and he’d spent it exactly how he’d told Ron he would. He and Draco lazed around the flat watching movies and playing chess. It was a perfect day that Harry would have been content enough with as a gift but Draco had surprised him with a personal set of bamboo chopsticks with a kanji burnt into the end that apparently meant “courage”. Draco claimed it was just a simple novelty item but the idea that he’d left the house at all for Harry meant far more than whatever the actual gift was. He preferred that over a cake.

“Thank you, again,” Harry repeated. She threw up her hands, not bothering to fuss with the matter any longer. She turned back to what she’d been doing. Harry finally noticed she wasn’t alone in the kitchen.

He wasn’t surprised to see Fleur. She sat at the table in the center of the room, attempting to simultaneously look helpful and stay out of Molly’s way. She jumped up the moment Molly got out of the way and kissed Harry once on each cheek. “’Ello, Harry! Happy Birthday!” Her English was getting better each time he saw her, her H’s were beginning to sound more natural and less forced.

He tried to be polite. He smiled and returned her greeting but his eyes moved past her. He had already spotted the other red-headed female in the room.

“Hya, Harry,” Ginny greeted with a small wave. She snapped her head away from him when the contents of the sauce pan she’d been stirring began to let off a sizzling sound.

“Er, hey…” He instinctively glanced back at the Floo. Draco would be coming through any minute. He didn’t know why the idea of Ginny and Draco in the same room sent such a cold chill down his spine. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

She handed off the wooden spoon to her mother and turned back to Harry. “The guys were pretty instant, and my game isn’t until tomorrow. Gwen likes us to rest the day before so we don’t get hurt practicing or psyche ourselves out.”

“That’s right. You’re playing against Puddlemere, aren’t you? That’s a big game.”

Ginny let out one of her brilliant, earthy laughs. “Yeah, Gwen certainly thinks so too. I think she’s the one who needs to relax. I swear she’s crazier about quidditch than Oliver Wood.”

Harry scoffed. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Ginny laughed. It was as infectious as it had always been. Harry smiled as well.

The door burst open and Ron’s voice entered before he did. “There’s the birthday boy!” He was accompanied by Charlie. Their loud entrance stirred some others from the sitting room. George and Angelina popped into view. “And see, I told you,” Ron elbowed Charlie, “there was no way Malfoy would actually show up here.”

Harry looked at him oddly. “Wait, you didn’t think he’d come, that’s why you invited him?”

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ron insisted. “It’s Malfoy though. It’s expected that he’d chicken-”

The fireplace roared to life. Within a second, Harry felt someone collide with his back. They both stumbled. “I thought the point of waiting five minutes was so you could move out of the way,” Draco grumbled as he steadied himself.

Harry grabbed onto his to hold himself up. “Sorry, got distracted.”

He started to gesture to the room as if to present proof but hesitated. The whole mood had shifted. Smiles fell and bodies got tense. Harry could feel Draco tensing against his back as well. He instinctively grabbed his wrist.

“Damn, I should have put money on it,” Charlie nudged Ron, attempting to lighten the mood.

Her son’s voice shook Molly out of her chill. Harry had never seen the woman have to actively attempt to pull out her warmth. “Hello, Malfoy. Thank you for joining us.”

Draco bobbed his head and spoke with polite gratitude for the invitation. He wasn’t sure if he meant it yet. His eyes darted across each of the room’s occupants. Charlie and Molly were making attempts to smile. Ron looked as exasperated and mildly concerned as he had the last time Draco had seen him. The rest of the occupants barely hid their disdain.

Draco had never seen George Weasley look so serious. Then again, he didn’t have very many solid memories of George without his mirror standing beside him. He felt a pang of guilt. He always did enjoy the twin’s mischief even if he’d never admit it. He would be lying if he said he’d felt nothing when he learned about Fred’s death.

Harry noticed the way George was looking at him as well. He tightened his hold on Draco’s arm, prepared to defend. Angelina saw it as well.

“Babe-” Harry straightened. Babe? When did that happen? “-come take a walk with me?”

George swallowed the lump in his throat. He tore his eyes off of Draco to look down at Angelina then finally nodded. She led him out the door, Charlie and Ron jumping out of their way.

“Er,” Ron’s gaze darted between the doorway, Harry, Draco, and his sister who was sending him a dark look, “I’ll go get Hermione.” He slinked towards the door. “And tell the others you’re here.”

“I’ll join you.” Fleur stomped passed Harry and Draco, flipping her sheet of silver hair over her shoulder as she went by, very nearly hitting them both in the face.

Ginny continued to glare after Ron. Molly pulled on a smile. “Well, you’re welcome to a seat wherever you can find one. Lunch will be ready soon.”

Harry gave a short nod and guided Draco around to the sitting room. He could feel the eyes of the three Weasleys on his back but he was more concerned with whispering a rushed of apology to Draco.

“Don’t apologize,” Draco said in the same hushed tone. “We both knew they weren’t going to greet me with open arms. It’s okay.”

“But you left for-“

“It’s okay,” he repeated sharply, giving Harry a pointed look. Draco was used to be the center of glowering attention. The years’ worth of collection piling onto his back was what had caused his armor to crack. However, there was something familiar about Weasley hatred. It was hot and sharp but they never crossed lines. They were too moral for that. He could handle it – for Harry’s sake.

“Harry!” He turned to see a bush of light brown curls coming towards him before he was smothered in a hug. He gave Hermione tight squeeze.

She looked over Harry’s shoulder and instantly spotted the boy behind him. Hermione’s smile didn’t falter but Draco could see something change in her eyes. She didn’t allow it to take over. She gave a stiff nod of acknowledgement which he returned.

She pulled Harry back to arm’s length. “Everyone’s outside waiting for you.” She leaned close and feigned whispering, “Percy even brought his girlfriend around for the first time.”

Harry raised a brow. “So she’s real?” He looked to Percy’s siblings and mother, which once again included Ron, and they each gave nods with the same tentative smile. Hermione smacked his arm.

“Come on.” Hermione looped her arm with his. “The others are waiting too. Neville just got here as well. We’re only waiting for Dean, Seamus, and Andromeda now. Luna might be coming also but her response was sort of vague.”

She started to lead him towards the door and he allowed her for a few steps until he remembered that he wasn’t there alone. He paused and looked back at Draco. He hesitated. He knew Draco wouldn’t be comfortable with so many people around but he wasn’t sure how to go about comforting him when so many people would be watching. Holding his arm like usual would likely elicit more attention rather than have the opposite effect.

Draco seemed to read his mind. “I’ll stay here.”

Harry pulled Hermione to a stop. “Are you sure?”

Draco rolled his eyes, proceeding to sit on the squashing armchair as if it was a throne, throwing one leg over the other. “I’m not a child, Potter. I can handle myself just fine, thank you.”

Harry pressed his lips together. That was the second time that day that Draco referred to him by his surname. He usually only did it anymore to tease him but this seemed different. He was being careful around the others. Harry didn’t like it. It felt like they were going backwards. Nevertheless, he would respect Draco’s wishes. “If you’re certain.”

“I am.” Draco’s face was smooth of any emotion. Harry had almost forgotten how good he was at wearing that mask. He hoped he wasn’t making the wrong decision by going along with it. He allowed Hermione to lead him out – Ron and Charlie followed them.

The moment Harry was out of sight, Draco’s perfect posture fell aside. He shrunk back into the chair. Ginny watched carefully from the kitchen. She’d never seen Draco Malfoy look so…fragile. She couldn’t believe something as simple as Harry’s presence could have altered it but that seemed to have been the case.

Molly attempted to be polite and start up a few conversations with Draco. It was losing battle. He wasn’t trying to be rude but too many walls were built up and his brain was fuzzy. The only thing he could really focus on was examining the Weasley house.

It was cramped and cluttered and would have driven his own mother crazy – he was having trouble not getting up to tidy a few things himself. However, it also looked like a home. An overflowing basket of knitting supplies sat at his feet, what was possibly a scarf was half started and crumpled on top. Pictures with smiling faces littered any free space available. He found considerable interest in the grandfather clock which was useless if one wanted to know the time, however it was very informative as to the whereabouts – or rather the status – of the Weasley family members such as whether or not they were at home, work, or in mortal peril.

It was so incredibly unlike Malfoy Manor that thinking about it too hard might have given him whiplash. He wondered what his life would have been like growing up with the simple change of backdrop. To see familiar smiling faces when he walked through the hall instead of scowling portraits that never withheld their disapproval whenever they felt it. He couldn’t even fathom his mother hand making something for him, not when they had house-elves to do the sewing.

Draco had always felt so much hatred towards the Weasleys. He hated their red hair and their hand-me-down robes. He hated how loved they must have felt growing up.

The rush of flames from the mantelpiece which was just out sight tore Draco out of his thoughts. A figure stumbled out, followed closely by another. Molly spun around. “Oh, Dean, Seamus, there you are. Perfect timing, really. Food’s got another ten minutes on it. Everyone’s outside.”

Draco stiffened when heard the names. When he saw the attached bodies going to greet Ginny with hugs, he quickly pushed back into his seat in hopes to go unnoticed. It seemed to work. He watched the Weasley women interact with the pair out of the corner of his eye. He remembered what Harry had told him about them. They were together. He wondered if it was true that the Weasleys were okay with it. By the warm smiles on the women’s faces, it appeared to be accurate.

Draco really did hate the Weasleys.

Molly guided the pair towards the door and announced their arrival. Her warmth fell away with prim tone. “Arthur, I thought I told you to get that table set up twenty minutes ago!” There was a rushed, muffled apology.

She pulled her head back into the house and went back to the counter, muttering to her daughter about the men in the family. Ginny hummed and nodded along.

As if summoned, two redheads stamped up the steps into house with Harry in the lead. Charlie stopped in the kitchen to dip his finger in the frosting Molly was working on, earning a swat with her wooden spoon. Bill went to the cupboards, beginning to pull out mismatched silverware and plates, likely to place at the table.

Harry went straight towards the sitting room. Draco pulled himself up, trying to appear as collected as he had earlier. Harry wasn’t fooled. “You all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Harry crossed his arms, his lips pursed. He nodded towards the kitchen. “You okay with this?” He was referring to eating with everyone.

“No, I’m going to sit in here and eat like a heartbroken girl eating her lunch alone in a cubical.”

“Since when did you become Moaning Myrtle?”

Draco gave him a sharp look. “Don’t joke. She isn’t that bad.”

Harry sighed, dropping his arms. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right.” The Weasley children shared looks in the kitchen. “Well, are you coming or not?”

Draco pulled himself up from the chair. “I’m coming, I’m coming. I wouldn’t want to turn down the guest of honor.”

“That’s more like it.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Bill slipped out the door ahead of them – Charlie was kept back to help the girls with bringing the food out. Happy faces began to lose their brightness the moment eyes began to catch sight of the pair walking side-by-side.

“Don’t,” Ron warned grimly, spotting the twisting of Percy’s face. If anyone had less tolerance for an ex-Death Eater than George, it was Percy. After all, he had been the last person with Fred. The mousey-haired woman beside him squeezed his arm.

Draco was getting smaller and smaller under all of the eyes. Harry went straight to the newly erected table which originally only fit six but now had more than enough room for the roughly twenty people in attendance. He sat one from the end, leaving space for Draco who wouldn’t need to sit beside anyone else.

Anyone not already at the table began to migrate over. Molly, Charlie, and Ginny started to levitate at least three dishes each ahead of themselves.

“Oh Harry, you’re supposed to sit at the end so everyone can see you,” said Molly. Harry looked between the empty chair and Draco beside him. It seemed an awkward distance away and he didn’t want to give up his current spot to anyone who would make Draco uncomfortable.

Before he could make a decision, Ron plopped into the empty chair, facing his father on the other end. “I think everyone rather see my handsome face, mum.”

“In your dreams,” George teased.

Ron leveled a look on him. “I’m sorry but were you the Weasley everyone was talking about when they sung ‘Weasley is our king’?” He looked to Draco. “Thank you for that, by the way. Lovely lyrics you made up there.”

Draco attempted to appear stoic but pink was budding on his cheeks after a brief rollercoaster of emotions. “You’re welcome.” He tried to find distraction to collect himself, watching as Harry pored himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. “I thought it was quite catchy.”

“It was!” He shot a mischievous look towards his sister as she brought out a bowl of mashed potatoes. “You’re almost as good as my sister at coming up with rhymes.”  
  


Ginny slammed the bowl onto the table and shot her brother another deadly look. Harry began to choke on his drink. As if on que, the words of the unfortunate valentine he’d been sent his second-year began to play in his head.

Draco bit his lip. He looked over at the flaming face of the boy beside him. He had a feeling he knew what Ron was talking about. He risked a glance at Ginny as well who turned away on her heel to sit at the other end of the table. He didn’t remember exactly what his remark had been to the girl about the matter but he had a feeling she remembered.

He jumped. He hadn’t expected to feel the hand over his under the table. Harry was still red in the face and sending Ron dark looks but it was certainly his hand on Draco’s. Draco’s eyes darted around for any witnesses but Molly was the last to sit and she was tucking herself at the other end beside her husband.

Everyone began to scoop out helpings onto their plates, but Harry let go of Draco only long enough to pass bowls around. When things were settled and several conversations began to spring up, he felt Harry’s fingers interlace with his. Draco didn’t fight it. He knew he should. There were too many people around and they agreed not to do this but it was helping. He almost forgot how many people were around him and how much they wished he wasn’t there. It wasn’t just Harry who helped though.

Hermione and Ron were making a new effort. They kept him in the conversation as much as they could. Those sitting closest to them were Neville, Dean, and Seamus, all of which were clearly warry but went along with it the best they could. Draco did have the unsettling feeling that Dean was aware of what was underneath the table but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Harry.

With more people around, Draco was able to watch their reactions more carefully to Dean and Seamus’s relationship. As expected, no one gave it a second glance. They kissed and called each other stuff like ‘babe’ just like any of the other young couples at the table, and no one batted an eye. The same people would likely all faint if Harry and Draco put their hands on top of the table.

Everyone finished their meals and it was decided they’d wait for Andromeda and Teddy to arrive before they brought out the cake – party because Teddy would like it the most and because they were all too full. Draco was just as affected as everyone else was by the phenomenon that was Molly Weasley’s food. Not even his trained house-elves could make anything this good.

Many people moved into the house. Some helped Molly with the dishes while others went to converse in the sitting room. Had Draco realized the party was going to move inside, he wouldn’t have gone back to his chair as quickly as he had. It was mostly the same people who Draco had been sitting with at the table with the addition of Ginny, Angelina, and baby Victoire who was crashing on George’s lap – thankfully, he took more interest in the child than he did Draco.

Harry handed the last of the dirty plates over to Audrey, Percy’s girlfriend, who was helping Molly scourgify the mess. He was about to sardine himself into the sitting room with everyone else when Charlie caught his attention.

“Want a drink too, Harry?” he asked amid lining up the glasses he’d been pulling out of the cupboard. He’d meant only to be courteous. He was going to hand out a few drinks to anyone who wanted one then join his father in the shed with Bill. He hadn’t meant to earn his mother’s ire. He didn’t have to look up to feel the cringe coming from Fleur and Percy at the table nor the stillness from the other room.

Harry noticed all of this transpire. It was this type of atmosphere which usually led him to bitterly snatch up the bottle and pour himself a much larger drink than necessary just to spite them; however, a voice from the other room stopped him.

Hermione, Neville, and Draco hadn’t noticed the conversation in the kitchen as opposed to those who were closer. They were in a heated discussion about a book Neville claimed had misleading title – _Flowers without_ _Flaws._ The original sentiment had gotten lost. Hermione and Draco were now debating the historic and spiritual significance of the characters and their connection to the old religion. It was the most Draco had spoken all afternoon.

Harry waved a hand at Charlie. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” He left the kitchen and started to wade into the living room.

Molly, Charlie, Percy, and Fleur exchanged looks. George even looked up from Victoire to give Harry an odd look as he passed. Harry didn’t pay them any mind.

He came to a stop at Draco’s arm. Draco tore away from his conversation with Hermione to look up at him and then around at the room. There was barely any room to sit. Ron was already sitting on the ground at Hermione’s knees. Hermione, herself, was squashed onto the couch with Neville, Dean, and Seamus. Ginny had pulled in a chair from the kitchen. Meanwhile, Angelina was perched on the armrest of the other armchair, letting George sit comfortably with Victoire in his lap.

Draco started to move as if he was going to give up his seat which made Harry give him an odd look. Draco glanced towards the door, apparently content with leaving so he could talk to his friends. Harry didn’t let that thought linger. He dropped onto the ground like Ron and pressed his shoulder into the side of Draco’s knee. Draco glared at him but eased once again.

The attention was yet to leave Harry so he started up a conversation with Ron about Quidditch which Ginny and Seamus quickly joined. Hermione saw that she’d lost Draco in their discussion. He was too busy listening faintly to Harry.

Conversations ebbed and flowed, naturally changing between topics and who was adding their opinion. Draco didn’t add anything of his own. He had become preoccupied with spying some ash still in Harry’s mop from Flooing to the Burrow. He started to pick it out detected but he didn’t expect Harry to lean into his touch or for him to lull his eyes so much. Was he trying to be obvious? He gave a quick pinch the root of his hair. Harry claimed retribution by pinching Draco’s ankle. Draco stomped his foot following it with a kick to Harry’s thigh.

Harry started to turn back to look up at him.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!”

A small, cyan blob flew across Harry’s lap, nearly knocking him over. After a moment of processing, Draco realized the blob was actually a child with shockingly colored hair. Harry steadied and pulled the child into a tight embrace. “Thank you, buddy.” As Harry rocked back and forth to exaggerate the hug, Draco finally realized who this child was. It was the only person with blue hair on his family tree. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”

Teddy was grinning as he pulled back. His eyes looked up passed Harry when he noticed the pair of legs his godfather was leaning against. Draco lost the breath in his lungs. Green eyes which looked shockingly like Harry’s peered up at him.

“Sorry, we’re so late,” a new voice said from the entrance. “Someone wouldn’t take his nap.”

Draco looked towards the sound. His heart stopped.

He leapt up from his chair, instantly flicking his wand out of his pocket. “You’re dead,” he snapped.

She wasn’t a ghost. Her white skin was solid. He couldn’t see past her long, thick, shiny dark hair. It had to be Bellatrix though. She had the same strong jaw and thin lips.

A deeper pause of contemplation might have led him to a better conclusion but his whole body was trembling. All he could see were her cold eyes and his imagination fitted together the rest of her sinister visage. He should have known she’d find a way to return.

Teddy took cover between Ron and Hermione. Harry scrambled up to his feet. He stood between them, tugging on Draco’s arm as he begged for him to calm down.

“Not quite,” said the woman, her voice only a fraction smoother than Bellatrix’s. “I think you’re referring to my sister.” Draco stumbled as if this information had smacked him across the face. He glanced back at Teddy and the pieces began to fall into place. This was in fact his aunt but not the one he knew. He let Harry guide his arm to his side.

Andromeda assessed the pair. Her previous suspicious were confirmed. However, she didn’t feel the pride of being correct. If anything, it made her sick. Of all these years of trusting Harry, she never thought he could be so stupid.

Her eyes ran over the Malfoy boy. A thick ball of cotton formed in her throat. “You of all people should understand the burden of physical similarities between family members,” she voiced. “You have your father’s eyes after all.”

He scowled. His grip tightened around his wand. “I didn’t ask for them.”

“Nor did I ask to share so many similarities with my older sister.” Andromeda leveled her chin to the ground. “Now please, put your wand away around my grandson,” she narrowed her eyes, “unless you prefer that I make you.”

Draco’s wand disappeared within his jacket once again. He tore his gaze off of Andromeda to find the many other pairs of eyes watching him. They were all stiff. Several people had their hands still hovering around their hips, likely ready to pull out their own wands. He cleared his throat. “I think I need some air.”

He pulled from Harry’s grip and stepped around him. He didn’t look at Andromeda as he moved passed her. She remained perfectly still, standing like a proud statue that refused to see him.

Harry moved to follow.

“Where are you going?” Teddy called from behind him, pulling out from among Ron and Hermione. “Can I come with? I just got here.”

Before Harry could even give it a thought, the child ran up and took his hand, ready to follow him on his adventure. Harry’s face softened. “Okay, you can meet a friend of mine.”

He only took a step forward before Andromeda side-stepped into his path. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harry.”

Harry frowned. He felt Teddy’s small hand tighten around his fingers. “Why not?”

“I won’t allow him around a Death Eater,” she spat.

Harry pulled himself to his full height, overtaking her by several inches. “I trust him. Besides, Teddy is my godson-”

“He is my _grandson_ ,” Andromeda interjected sharply.

Tense silence hung off of her words. They warred silently with hard gazes and straight lips. Harry finally gave in.

He tried to let go of Teddy but the child clung on tighter. Harry had to forcefully push him off with his other hand. Seeing the pain in his godson’s eyes, he tried to ease the emotional blow by running a hand over his head. “I’ll be back. Stay with your grandmother.”

Before Teddy could argue, Harry started towards the door again, brushing past Andromeda as he went. Teddy tried to follow. Andromeda grabbed his arm, keeping him back. His eyes began to water. “Uncle Harry,” he whimpered.

Molly came to the rescue before it could get out of hand. “Teddy, dear, would you like to help me add the last touches to Harry’s cake?”

Teddy still appeared forlorn but followed Molly nonetheless. The silence which lingered did not last as long as the last. While everyone watched the child’s recovery, Hermione’s focus had remained on Andromeda. “Was that really necessary?”

Andromeda’s hard eyes darted towards the girl. Hermione didn’t waver, looking just as frustrated, and somewhat disappointed, as before. “I’m not allowing my grandson around the people who killed his parents.” Andromeda didn’t hold anything back. It wasn’t her style.

Hermione opened her mouth but it was Ron spoke. “Draco didn’t kill anyone.”

Andromeda wasn’t the only one who gave the man on the floor a scandalous look. “You’re defending _them_?”

“No, I’m defending _Draco_.” Ron got to his feet. “Trust me. If anyone has reason to hate Draco Malfoy, it’s me and Hermione. I’ll look past that though if it means he helps Harry, _and he helps Harry_. I have never seen him this...”he searched for the right word, happy wasn’t enough, “comfortable,” he exchanged it for another, “content…with himself until now. I like this Harry and I will not let you and your family feud with your sisters get in the way of that.”

Andromeda started to argue but Ron wouldn’t let her. “Draco is not either of his parents. He’s not the embodiment of all the Death Eaters either. He was a kid, just like us. We all made mistakes. I don’t know what this is,” he threw a hand towards the door Draco and Harry had just gone through, “but I’ll support it if that’s what it takes.”

“He’s in love with him.” The whole room stopped breathing for a beat. Eyes moved slowly to the person who had spoken. It was Ginny.

She looked away from the magazines on the coffee table she’d been feigning interest in. When she saw all of the alarmed eyes on her, she raised a brow. “Please, we all see it.” She let out a short, mirthless laugh. “They were holding hands all through lunch.”

Ron shrunk from the towering form he’d been projecting at Andromeda. Sympathy swam in his eyes. “Gin, I’m so sorry I made you come. When he asked about you, I thought-“

She shook her head profusely. “No, it’s good I’m here. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.” She smiled sadly, her eyes distant. “I’ve never seen him that comfortable before, not even with me. If this is what he wants then we should support it. He’s our family,” she looked at George who readjusted the baby in his arms. “We’ve lost enough,” her gaze moved to Andromeda, “so has he. We don’t have any right to take this away. I just hope he’s not denying it for our sake.”


	19. Without Guilt

Draco walked up the hill outside the Burrow towards a small cluster of trees. He could hear Arthur and his eldest sons carrying on as he passed the shed, none of them noticing him. He didn’t really know where he was going. He was only hoping he could put the horrible Weasley house out of sight. The warmth had been suffocating. What was worse was that he knew he’d never have a part of that. He would always have his father’s eyes… Cold and unforgiving. All anyone would ever see when they looked at him was his father’s son. He would only ever be a Malfoy.

“Dray!”

Draco spun around. Harry was jogging out towards him. He frowned. “Go back inside with your friends.” He looked away, not daring to show his face right now. “I’m just getting some air.”

Harry, of course, did not listen. He caught up to Draco and matched his gate. “I need some too.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest but it appeared more like a self-hug rather than confidence. “You don’t have to check on me like I’m a toddler.”

Harry grabbed his shoulder, tugging them both to a halt. He pulled Draco around to face him. “I’m checking on a _friend_.” He scanned Draco’s face like a healer assessing injuries. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Draco repeated. His voice was small and weak but he appeared to be sincere. Fine was not a synonym for happy.

“Okay,” Harry nodded, understanding. He started to place his other hand on Draco’s shoulder but Draco flinched away. His eyes darted towards the Burrow. Harry followed his gaze over his shoulder. He couldn’t see any faces in the windows but he wasn’t naive enough to think that there couldn’t be. “This way.”

He led Draco further up the hill until they entered the small paddock which was owned by the Weasleys and surrounded by trees, blocking them from the village below and the Burrow alike.

“I should have warned you about Andromeda,” Harry sighed. He leaned against fence of the paddock, barely paying the sway of the old wood any mind.

Draco shook his head. “She’s my aunt,” he assessed the stability of the fence before resigning to choose a somewhat newer looking post to rest against, “I shouldn’t have been so surprised by the resemblance.” His corners of his eyes tightened, his gaze going far past the breeze strewn grazing land that he stared at. “Then again, most people have at least seen pictures of their relatives before.”

Harry tilted his head. He frowned at Draco, expecting him to explain further but his thoughts were still too far away. He tried to call him back, “You haven’t even seen a portrait before?”

Draco shook his head. “Mother was too ashamed of her blood traitor sister.” Draco glanced nervously at Harry. “Obviously she’s gotten over that. However, I don’t blame Andromeda for being bitter. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to leave.” He began to pick at his sleeve, momentarily becoming disappointed when he found the smooth cotton of his button down instead of the woven wool he was used to wearing around the flat. His mind returned back to the topic at hand. “It couldn’t have been easy. Even her aunt burned her off of the family tree. I would hate any reminders of that life as well.”

Harry’s gaze fell to where Draco continued to rub his fingers over his left sleeve. He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t sure where Draco’s mind was going but he didn’t believe it was positive. He reached for Draco’s arm. Draco only made a brief attempt at pulling away but otherwise allowed Harry to pull his sleeve back. He snapped his head up the second he caught sight of the dark ink on his skin. Harry didn’t look away, instead watching his own fingers as they traced over the smooth skin.

“Someone’s going to see,” Draco mumbled, looking anywhere but at Harry or his arm.

“We aren’t doing anything,” Harry said grumpily as if he was bitter of this fact. “I’m comforting a friend.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He wanted to ask if Harry typically held Ron’s hand like this but he didn’t want to start a conversation he wouldn’t be able to finish, not here of all places.

He could feel his cheeks burning the longer Harry’s touch whispered up and down his forearm. He tried to find a distraction in their surroundings.

Summer had already settled snuggly across England. It was another rare day that not only presented sunshine but a fairly cloudless, blue sky. It also offered very little protection from the sun and cast heat across the valley in a soft haze, rolling in warm gusts through the shaggy grass. While the trees around them were thickly packed, Draco could still spot life between some of the trunks. A tiny, muggle village was nestled below, likely with little to no knowledge of the Weasley’s existence here.

That was how it was for Draco in Wiltshire. The manor was doused in wards and tucked so far back that even the most lost muggle tourist could not stumble upon them. This was the first thing that felt similar between Draco’s upbringing and the Weasleys’.

However the manor, and even a nearby paddock not much unlike this one, felt far more constant, each made of ancient stone. They were cold and hard and likely to outlast anything he did by thousands of years, never to be moved unless by pure force. That was very much unlike the pliable wood he leaned against or the lopsided Burrow which swayed ever so subtly with the wind. It was soft and uncertain but also alive with possibilities to continue evolving and growing.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been in the countryside in over a year,” Draco voices, earning Harry’s gaze on his face. “I forgot how much I liked it.”

“Really?” Harry stopped tracing his arm, becoming distracted. “You don’t seem like a country style man?”

Draco chuckled, one of his warm genuine laughs that made Harry smile. “I don’t mean farm land, just a nice cottage somewhere away from people; somewhere that I can just exist and not feel anyone’s disappointment or expectations breathing down my back.”

The laugh which issued out of Harry’s lips startled Draco. He frowned. “Why are you laughing at me?”

Harry shook his head, trying to wipe the grin off his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m just amused.” Draco’s frown only deepened. That had not been a proper answer. Harry relented, “I’m _amused_ because I’ve always wanted the same thing.”

Draco’s jaw became slack. Harry quickly looked away returning to tracing the dark mark. “I’ve always wanted a home, an actual home. Not a townhouse, not a flat, not a cookie cut suburban. A home,” a ghostly smile flitted across his face like was thinking back on a memory, “cluttered and lived in with a garden and trees.” The memory appeared to sour as he realized it was a dream, not a reality. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Draco wondered if Harry ever hated the Weasleys too, even if only for a brief moment.

Harry’s fingers had stopped moving but they lingered on his arm. Draco didn’t move it, only bowing his head forward instead. He felt so drained. He hadn’t had to be around so many people in a long time. He pressed his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. “Can we leave?” he mumbled quietly. He’d been dying to ask for hours but he didn’t want to ruin Harry’s day.

He felt Harry’s cheek rest against the side of his head. “Yeah, I think I’m ready too.”

* * *

“You can’t leave yet!” Molly exclaimed. “You haven’t even blown out your candles.”

Harry and Draco had returned to the Burrow to find a strange atmosphere around them. Harry tried not to ponder it long, announcing they’d be leaving almost as soon as they entered. It wasn’t going over well.

Teddy ran up to grab Harry’s sleeve. “But I just got here,” he whimpered. “You can’t go yet!”

The bright wide eyes of his godson sent a pang of guilt through Harry’s chest. He looked hopelessly between Molly, the child, and Draco beside him. Draco took a careful step away followed with a reassuring nod. Harry silently thanked him.

“Okay, a few more minutes won’t hurt, I suppose,” Harry agreed. That was all Teddy needed to hear. His puppy-like expression instantly switched to a wide grin. He began to tug Harry to the table where an overly sprinkled cake sat, proudly telling Harry that he helped decorate it.

“I’ll go get the rest of the boys,” Molly chirped, “wait just a moment.”

Molly hurried out of the house. While they waited, Harry bent down to Teddy’s level and listened to him explain why he placed each sprinkle where he had and the meaning behind the colors. Teddy took colors very seriously.

While Harry was trying to give his godson as much attention as possible, he kept Draco in his peripheral as well as where Andromeda was at any given moment. Draco had his back pressed against the edge of the mantelpiece, one foot edging into the Floo. Andromeda sat at the end of the table, watching Harry and Teddy through careful eyes but also very aware of Ron and Hermione staying nearby.

Harry moved closer to Teddy, dropping his voice to a whisper as he interrupted the child’s train of thought. “Remember that Malfoy I said I wanted you to meet?”

Teddy nodded eagerly.

“That’s him over there,” Harry nodded almost imperceptibly towards Draco. He hid the motion by placing his chin on the child’s tiny shoulder. It wasn’t hard for Teddy to figure out who he meant; Draco was the only person other than Audrey that Teddy had yet to meet.

Teddy’s eyes widened. “The one Grandma doesn’t like?”

“She doesn’t like his mum,” Harry corrected. “Your Gran can be a little stubborn.”

Teddy gave another enthusiastic nod, making Harry have to restrain laughing. “Do _you_ like him?”

Harry’s smile faltered. He tore his eyes from Draco to look back at the cake. “Yeah,” he straightened one of the sinking candles, “I do.”

“Then I do too,” Teddy proclaimed.

Another laugh poured out of Harry’s lips. He didn’t try to restrain this one. He clutched Teddy’s sides and pulled him into a tight embrace, causing giggles to fall from the child as well. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best godson?”

He stood tall again, pulling Teddy off the ground as he began to tickle his sides. Teddy’s laugh rang through the house, making several others laugh as they watched.

“I’m sorry, are we interrupting?” Molly teased as she reappeared in the doorway, Arthur, Bill, and Charlie trailing behind.

Harry stopped tickling Teddy, repositioning the three-year-old onto his hip. “No, we’re ready.” He looked to Teddy who was still grinning from ear to ear. “Do you want to help me blow out my candles?”

Teddy nodded with his whole body.

The candles were lit and everyone began to sing. Harry was grateful to have Teddy in his arms so he wouldn’t have to feel too awkward with everyone singing at him. When the song came to a close, Molly urged Harry to make a wish.

Harry already knew what his wish was. One glance at Draco solidified it. The direction of his gaze didn’t go unnoticed; Draco’s face became bright red. Harry and his godson leaned forward and blew out the candles in one mixed breath.

Cheers erupted.

The cake was cut and served to waiting hands. Knowing that it was likely rude to dash off before he even tried the cake that Molly made for him, Harry decided to stay long enough to at least finish a piece. Draco wasn’t surprised or upset. He was content to wait for few moments longer.

People began to spread around once they got their serving. Many went outside to sit at the table which was still set up. The crowd in the kitchen had dwindled down to only Molly, Harry, Draco, Teddy and Andromeda – Hermione and Ron stayed close by in the entryway to keep their eyes on Andromeda. George and Angelina were still in the sitting room, Angelina spooning bits of cake into George’s mouth while his hands were occupied.

Teddy, who’d happily taken up the task of handing out slices of cake, ran up to Draco to hand him an extra sprinkled piece. Draco honestly thought he didn’t have any room to eat more yet but he found himself unable to turn down the child. Did puppy eyes come with the werewolf gene?

Draco took the plate and Teddy ran off again. With a sigh, he moved to the narrow stairway to sit on the last few steps while he ate. Teddy had gone back to pick up another slice of cake, presumably to hand it out to the next person like he’d been doing. However, he ran right back over Draco and jumped onto the steps beside Draco.

Draco looked at the child with alarm. His eyes snapped to Andromeda who was watching them closely. He really didn’t want to start any more drama. Maybe he should just leave and wait for Harry at Grimmauld. He was about to stand up when he heard the child’s voice. “Uncle Harry says he likes you.”

Draco gaped at the child. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His whole face flushed. “Is…” he glanced around for any eavesdroppers but the child had enough couth to speak in decent whisper, “Is that so?”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically not unlike Draco had seen him do several times when talking to Harry.

“That means I like you too,” Teddy declared in the same whisper as before. “That’s why I gave you extra sprinkles. I only give my friends extra sprinkles.”

Draco was still reeling from Teddy’s first declaration. When he finally caught up, he was shocked to find that he was genuinely touched by Teddy’s generosity. It had to mean a lot for a little kid. “We’re friends?”

Teddy nodded again, this time not as big as he was too occupied with catching his fork full of cake in his mouth. Blue frosting coated his lips in an instant. He swallowed and looked up at Draco. “He says you’re nice, and I like you’re hair.”

Before Draco could even processes his words, Teddy’s cyan locks began to fade to platinum white. It mixed strangely with Harry’s green eyes which he still adorned.

“Er, I don’t think you should-”

“Teddy,” Andromeda called sharply. They both snapped their heads up towards the woman. Her lips had thinned but her expression was otherwise smooth of any true disdain. “Come here.”

“It’s fine,” Ron grumbled at her.

Andromeda snapped a napkin off the table and held it out towards Teddy. “Wipe your face,” she ordered, ignoring Ron, “you’re a mess.”

Teddy obeyed and waddled over to her, nearly dropping his cake on the floor as he moved. She twisted in her chair and took his face in her hands to wipe the frosting off his lips, mumbling about how much he was like his mother. When she finished, she slid a glance up at Ron as if to declare her innocence. He rolled his eyes but turned away nonetheless.

She discarded the napkin on the edge of her own plate but continued to watch Teddy eat as if he’d need her help again at any second – which was likely. “So Draco,” she voiced, the room stilled, “how is your mother?”

Draco whipped his own face of any possible runaway icing. “She’s doing fine. She’s in France right now.”

Andromeda nodded. “I assumed so. That’s where our mother always got that tea she liked so much.” She looked back at Harry. He suddenly became very interested in the layers within the cake. “I must say, I’m surprised Lucius agreed to go. She always used to say how much he disliked it down there.”

Draco leveled a look at her. “My father isn’t with her.”

The cool expression on the woman’s face crumbled. Her brow furrowed. A firm frown formed on her thin lips. “She’s been down there for months. She’s been sending me-”

“She hasn’t been with him for months,” Draco said sharply. He placed his plate on the steps beside him, suddenly losing his appetite.

Andromeda shook her head. “No, no. She would have said… Narcissa would have followed that man into a burning building. She wouldn’t leave-”

“Yes, and she did, we both did.” Draco rubbed at his sleeve. “We got burnt because of it. He didn’t care.” He looked down at his pale hands, feeling the clam up as he began to pick at his nails. “Not enough to try to stop it, at least.”

A beat of heavy silence coated the room. Even George and Angelina had paused in the other room out of sight.

“I’m surprised she didn’t mention it in her letters. She always used to...” Andromeda trailed off with a sigh and shook her head. “Things have changed. I’m surprised she’s even sending me anything, honestly.”

“She talked about you while _it_ was happening,” Draco admitted. “Just mutterings. Something about how she should have listened to you. She should have taken your offer.”

Andromeda straightened her spine. Her expression held such careful apathy that Draco did not wonder for a second if she and his mother were related. Nevertheless, as someone who was skilled at creating his own mask, he knew exactly where to look for faults. Her eyes tremored. She was searching for something that was far beyond Draco. “Yes, she should have.”

Draco momentarily forgot about everyone else in the room, including Harry. All he saw was one of the few people who had ever left the Black family and lived to tell the tale. He leaned forward onto his knees. “May I ask you something?”

Andromeda appeared to consider his question for a moment before giving a stiff nod.

Draco licked his drying lips. “How did you deal with leaving your family?”

She frowned. That wasn’t the question she’d been expecting. “I left when I turned seventeen,” she said as if he should already know this. “It caused quite the row. I still have a few of Bella’s scars.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t mean physically.”

The prim expression on her face changed. Her shoulders fell. She appeared to understand what he meant. “Well that’s just it isn’t it? You can get as far away as you want but they’ll still be in your head, always telling you that you’re doing it all wrong.” Her eyes fell to Teddy, the only thing she had left of a family. “In my experience, you have to love something else more than you hate them. If you have no hope to run to then you’ll always be trapped in your head. They were always good at that. Black family guilt should be a type of forbidden curse in its own right.”

“Do you ever regret leaving?”

“No.”

* * *

Draco had been quiet for the rest of the evening. Harry wasn’t sure what to do or say. He considered the conversation between Draco and Andromeda and had a feeling Draco was doing the same.

They talked plenty about their pasts but Draco had always put a hard wall around matters of his family. Harry was certain that even Legilimency couldn’t break through. He still didn’t have a very clear picture of his upbringing or if Lucius and Narcissa were actually perusing a divorce or simply living apart.

He was still thinking about it when he got to work Monday. Thankfully, he and Ron were sent out for patrol duty which didn’t require much concentration.

As they stepped out of dingy lane of Knockturn Alley into the light and chatter of Diagon, Ron gave him a sidelong glance. “You seem distracted today.” He readjusted his heavy Auror robes, looking forward again. “Is everything okay with Malfoy?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. He’s just been quiet.” Harry was too far into his thoughts to consider how strange it was to be talking to Ron about Draco like this.

It wasn’t lost on Ron but he did feel some concern pool in his chest. “Was it the party? I’m sorry about Andromeda. No one thought about telling her he was coming.”

Harry shook his head. “No, well- Yes, but I think it’s more about what they were talking about.”

Ron relaxed a fraction. He had a feeling that if Malfoy had been scared away, then they’d be seeing a lot less of Harry as well. Thankfully, it appeared that hadn’t happened. With this newfound relief he was able to consider Harry’s words. “Yeah, did you know about his parents? I would have assumed the press would have jumped on any news of a divorce.”

Harry shook his head. “Pansy works for the Prophet, I’m sure she’s been able to keep a few things out of the paper.”

“Pansy?” Ron’s brows drew down and together.

“Parkinson.”

“I know who you’re talking about,” Ron said, slightly exasperated. “She was at the hospital when you got injured… So what, is she like part of the Malfoy package?”

Harry frowned. He opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘don’t be ridiculous’ but fell short of actually speaking the words. The longer he considered it… “Yeah, sort of.”

Ron’s face twisted up like he had caught a whiff of something that smelt bad. “Please don’t tell me we have to start inviting her to holidays, too? Mum would have a heart attack.”

Harry gave him an odd look. “No, why would I make you invite her?”

Relief once again spread across Ron’s face. “Oh, okay.” He didn’t answer Harry’s question. For a moment, Harry was going to drop it but Ron’s features once again began to twist. “So is it like…just a casual thing between all of you?”

“Casual?” Harry repeated. He came to a full stop and turned towards his friend. Ron went on a few steps before noticing and retracing his steps. “What are you on about?”

Ron’s face began to match his robes. He turned his face the way they’d been walking, squinting as if the sun had suddenly broken through the constant cloud cover overhead. “Listen, I’m not going to judge anymore. I’ll support whatever makes you happy so if you want to be with Parkinson and Malfoy-”

“Be with?” Harry exclaimed. Harry snapped his head around, spotting as a young mother sent him a venomous glare as she passed with her pre-Hogwarts aged child. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I’m not _with_ Parkinson.”

Ron snapped back to Harry. Relief flooded his features for the third time in less than ten minutes. “Oh thank, Merlin. I was beginning to question your sanity for a moment. So it’s only Malfoy then?”

Harry’s eyes shot open wide and now it was his turn to match his robes. “I’m not- We aren’t- I don’t-”

Ron raised his brows. “Oh come off it, mate. I’m not an idiot. You two clearly have something going on.”

“What?” Harry snapped again, this time making an elderly woman jump as she exited the shop they were standing in front of.

Harry offered a hasty apology before snatching Ron’s arm to drag him to a less populated section of the alley. “Draco and I don’t have anything,” he said in a rushed whisper pulling them to a stop again, “we’re just friends.”

Ron leveled on him. “You’re joking, right?” Harry started to argue but Ron kept on. “I’m your friend, Harry, your best friend in fact, but we’ve never shared a bed, especially for an extended period of time.”

“That’s not-“

Ron raised his hands, quelling Harry. “That aside-” Ron licked his lips as he took in his friend once more. He hoped he wouldn’t have to say this but the frown on Harry’s face told him differently. “-You’ve also never looked at me, or Hermione for that matter, the way you look at him.”

Harry’s heart was pounding out of his chest. His mounting anger subsided as he listened to his friend, finally hearing the words he’d been feeling for so long.

“There’s something between the two of you, mate, and it’s more than friendship. A blind person could see it. Everyone at the party could certainly see it.”

Harry’s whole body went rigid. He stared at Ron through wide eyes and a gaping mouth. However, thinking back, he couldn’t act as though he’d been particularly careful. Maybe he’d been partially hoping someone would pick up on it, just to gage their reaction. He slowly closed his mouth again and swallowed. “What- How do they feel about it?”

Ron’s exasperation disappeared and his face fell. For a moment, Harry feared that he’d said something wrong. That this was some sort of test that he’d just failed. It certainly appeared like Ron had just received some bad news. “Mate,” he said carefully, “you know we won’t care, right?”

Relief spread across Harry’s face but it only made Ron appear more hurt.

“Please don’t tell me you’re holding back because you’re scared what we’ll think, right?” Ron urged. “We aren’t the Blacks. You’re our family, we wouldn’t-” He shook his head like he was still in shock. “We wouldn’t do that to you.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. While he was relieved to hear this, it didn’t seem like a ridiculous thing to be afraid of. “Really? Because you didn’t seem so happy when he came to the hospital.”

Ron averted his eyes from Harry’s face. He found sudden interest in a loose stone by his feet, beginning to wiggle it with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, well, I guess I could kind of tell back then too. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “So why are you okay with it now?”

Ron snapped his head up. “I was never not okay with it.” Harry nearly started laughing out of pure disbelief but Ron quickly spoke over him. “I don’t care if you fancy a bloke. Maybe it was little hard to hear that it was Malfoy but,” he let out a long sigh, “I got over it. What bothered me was that you didn’t bother to tell me.”

The ghostly bitter smile on Harry’s lips fell. He could see true hurt in his friends eyes as he said this.

“I mean, Robards knew before I did!” Ron exclaimed, gesturing down the street like their boss was standing there. “I’m your best friend. We went through a war together. I thought after all this time you would have finally stopped feeling like you have to hide stuff from us.” Harry’s arms slowly fell back to his sides. “We’re your friends. Let us help you. I mean, you literally died for us. And you can’t even trust that we’ll be okay with who you choose to sleep with?”

“I know you care,” Harry interrupted Ron’s rant. “I trust you, I swear. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Draco, or the nightmares, or the panic attacks.” The way Ron’s jaw twitched told Harry that he was right to think this wasn’t just about Draco. “I’m still not used to having anyone to talk to, about _that_ sort of stuff,” he added quickly seeing the look on Ron’s face. “I’m trying. Draco’s really helping me through it, actually.”

Ron nodded slowly. It was still hard to comprehend they were talking about the same person from school but Ron wasn’t going to fight it anymore. “Then…you two are…”

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. He began to look for that loose stone Ron had been messing with as he shook his head. “No, he doesn’t want to.”

Ron raised his brows. “Are you certain? The feelings seemed to be pretty mutual. You should have seen him when I told him you were in the hospital. I thought he was going to start crying.”  
  


Harry’s head snapped up. He wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or feel bad that his injury almost brought Draco to tears. “They are, I think.” From the way they were flirting a few weeks ago, Harry would assume so although he couldn’t help but second guess himself. If Draco really did share his feelings than he wouldn’t be able to hold back so well, Harry was certainly struggling. “He’s worried what people will think.” He slid his eyes gaze to the crowded street, suddenly feeling very conscious of how loud they were speaking. “He thinks people will assume it’s some trick or start hating me too.”

A sharp snort came from Ron. “That’s a ridiculous reason.”

Harry threw his hands in the air. “I know!” He dropped his arms in a defeated sort of way. “I can’t force him though.”

Ron sighed. “Well, tell him that we don’t care. Mum’s even invited him to Christmas.”

Harry’s chest filled with warmth he only ever felt around the Weasley family. Like the simultaneous comfort of homemade soup and a warm hug. He really was grateful to have them. “Thank you,” Harry said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ron chuckled. “Of course, mate.” He thumped a hand on his back as he started forward to resume their route. “Just please keep the snogging to a minimum.” His comment earned a shove but it was followed closely by laughter from both men.

* * *

His conversation with Ron ran through Harry’s head for the rest of the day. It lent to the continued hush of the flat when he got home. Draco was still not talking very much although they kept an easy conversation during dinner about what they’d each gotten up to during the day.

Harry kept searching for an opportunity to bring up what Ron had told him but nothing seemed right. He knew he had to say something though. The longer he waited, the more likely he would be to not say anything at all.

After dinner and a few shows, they started getting ready for bed. Draco switched off the bedside light before easing into bed. Harry laid perfectly still. He’d been going over what he should say the whole time Draco was in the bathroom.

It was so quiet, so still. He was certain Draco knew something was coming because there was no way he couldn’t hear Harry’s heart. It was now or never. “Ron told me something today.”

Harry waited for Draco to respond. For a moment he wondered if he’d already fallen asleep somehow until, “Well don’t leave me on the edge of my seat.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath. How should he say this? He didn’t want to scare Draco away. He also didn’t want to anger him. What was the gentlest way to put it?

Rustling beside him got Harry’s attention. Draco moved onto his side, his brow knitted together. “If you’re goal was to make me actually interested in something Weasley had to say, then you’ve succeeded. What is it?”

He could see the outline of Draco’s form. The longer he stared into the darkness, the more his features began to come into definition. He focused on his lips. Was it so bad that he wanted to be able to kiss him? “Everyone knows.”

Draco became as still as board. His whole face smoothed. “Everyone knows what?” his voice was forcefully calm, riding the edge of splintering.

Harry swallowed. “Everyone knows that there’s more than just friendship between us.”

All of Draco’s restraint fell away in an instant. “You told them!” He sprung from the bed. His pure anger flicked the light on without touching the switch or using his wand.

Harry sat up just as quickly. “No, I didn’t say anything. They figured it out.”

Draco took several steps from the bed. His arms were folded over his chest, appearing somewhere between a self-restraint and a self-hug. He shook his head side-to-side, face scrunched and eyes presenting a kaleidoscope of emotions.

“Ron told me that they don’t care,” Harry attempted. “No one important cares. Even your mum said-“

“My mum?” Draco snapped around and Harry quickly realized his mistake. “What about my mother? What did she say?”

He knew Draco wasn’t going to let him get around this now. “She said the same thing Ron told me.” Harry climbed off the bed and took careful steps towards Draco. “They want us to be happy, and I know for a fact that you’ve made me happier and, from what I’ve seen, you look happier too.” He took step closer. “So why can’t we be together? You asked me once what pleases me? It’s you. It’s being around you that makes me the happiest. Even when I’m not okay, I just… I want to be with you. Please let me.”

He took another step forward but this time Draco retreated from it. He shook his head rapidly. “No, no. I can’t- I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded. Ron was right. This was ridiculous. If they both felt the same and the people they loved didn’t care then that was all that mattered. Why couldn’t they just be honest?

Draco kept shaking his head. His arms became a clear self-hug. “I don’t- I don’t deserve it,” he whimpered and Harry’s blood ran cold. “I don’t deserve you.”

For the first time, Harry truly connected all of the pain in his eyes. It was the guilt that ate at him each night when Harry had to hold him. The distant look when he became quiet for a few days. The self-torment when he didn’t eat.

A jury might have declared him not guilty, but that didn’t mean he made the same judgment for himself. Years of isolation proved that. Starving himself proved it more. He hadn’t been sent to prison so instead he built one for himself. It was made of plain white walls and technology he never bothered to understand. He planned to die there. To fade away during his life sentence. A slow suicide.

He never expected Harry to show up. He never expected the savior of the Wizarding world to save him time and time again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to start dreaming of a happy future. He didn’t deserve to picture him and Harry in a quaint cottage with a family. After all his crimes, he didn’t deserve that. But here was Saint Potter, once again arriving to save him before Draco realized he needed to be saved.

The question he had asked Andromeda made more sense now. Her response meant even more.

Harry took another tentative step forward. “Draco, I don’t blame you. I don’t know exactly what happened but it wasn’t all your fault. You were a child. Despite what anyone’s told you, strangers or your father,” Draco’s hard eyes snapped up, “you couldn’t have done much to change any of this. What you did do was try to helped people and I don’t see that as any reason to persecute yourself.”

“The people I helped killed other people,” Draco reminded sharply.

Harry nodded. “You aren’t responsible for their choices though.” Something twisted in Harry’s stomach and his eyes fell to the ground where he scuffed the carpet. “Just like I’m not responsible for everyone who tried to help me.” He looked back at Draco. “I’ve started to come to terms with that because of you. Because I see you and I realize we’re actually a lot alike. We were just other people’s pawns and we did the best we could with what we were given. But that’s all over. Now…” He closed the last bit of space between them and Draco didn’t move away. He placed a gentle hand against Draco’s cheek. “It’s time for both of us to stop punishing ourselves. We _deserve_ to be happy and not feel guilty about it.”

Draco tried to say something but his chin only trembled. Harry leaned forward, Draco meeting him the last fraction to press his forehead against Harry’s. “You deserve to be loved,” Harry whispered. “And, Merlin help me, I love you. And I don’t care what anyone else has to say about that anymore.”

“I-” Draco hated his splintering voice but he went on. “I love you, too.” Harry’s heart began to soar in that instant. The corners of his mouth began to pull up into an insuppressible grin. “I’m scared though,” Draco admitted. “I’ve never had this. I don’t think I can lose you now.”

Harry shook his head lightly. “It’s a good thing I don’t plan on going anywhere then.”

Draco pulled away to look into his eyes. “I’m serious.”

There wasn’t a hint of a joke on Harry’s face. “So am I.” Harry brought his other hand up, cupping Draco’s whole face in both his hands. He spoke slowly, careful to enunciate each word. “I am not going anywhere.” His eyes fell down to Draco’s mouth, soft and kissable. His thumb dragged from one corner down to the center of his bottom lip. “All I want is to be with you, in every way.”

Draco placed his hand over Harry’s, giving his wrist a small squeeze. “I want that too.”

A blissful smile was already beginning to slide over Harry’s lips. “Is that a yes?”

The same smile appeared on Draco’s face though there was a glint in his eyes. “You never asked a question.”

Harry rolled his eyes but the smile never left his face. “Draco Malfoy…” Draco’s grin widened and he couldn’t stop himself from giving a small hum, making Harry appear even more exasperated. “…will you be my boyfriend?”

“Hmm…” Draco pretended to consider it.

“Come off it,” Harry snapped. “If you say you have to think-”

Soft lips swallowed Harry’s words. He instantly kissed back. His brain went fuzzy in the most delightful way. He’d been longing to feel this sensation again for what felt like ages.

This kiss was long and steady. It was the seal of their promise to not go anywhere.

Draco’s hands slid over Harry’s chest. He gave it a soft push and Harry moved with it, allowing him to move them backwards. Harry soon felt the bed just below the back of his knee. Draco’s hands moved down, beginning to tug on the bottom of his shirt.

Harry broke away.

A small whine came out of Draco’s lips. Harry tried not to let it distract him. He studied Draco’s flushes expression. He didn’t want to be over reading things. His eyes met Draco’s, their dark gleam sent a shiver down his spine. He tried to swallow down his own list. “Are you sure?”

Draco nodded, not daring to let his voice betray him.

“Have you done it with a bloke before?” Harry’s own self-consciousness was speaking.

Some of the lust eased into embarrassment as Draco shook his head. “Not with anyone.”

For some reason, that made Harry’s heart run faster. He rubbed his thumb across Draco’s cheek. “If you want to stop for any reason at any point, tell me.”

Draco nodded solemnly. “You as well.”

Harry agreed with a smile before pulling him back for another kiss. With every touch, their pleasant steadiness from before quickly dissolved into fast lust. Clothing became forgotten on the floor and for once, in many years, both men allowed themselves to be happy without guilt.


	20. Rose-Colored Glasses

The usual alarm broke Harry out of a wonderful dream. He groaned in defiance. However, as he went to move his arm to shut it off he found it stuck. In an instant he realized his dream hadn’t been a dream at all. There in his arms was the sleeping form of Draco Malfoy.

His memories from the night before hit him like a wave - one which sent a surge of warmth and delight through his entire body. He remembered every touch, every kiss, every caress. This moment was just as good though. To wake up not just beside Draco but to have him in his arms. To feel his warmth pressed against his body and feel no guilt.

He always felt a hint of guilt after a night spent with Ginny. It felt like he was taking something from her each time that wasn’t supposed to be his. He loved her and he thought she was beautiful but there was always a piece missing between them, a weak point that was bound to snap. Draco and Harry fit snuggly together. Both were whole on their own but stronger together.

Draco’s face pinched and he dug his head deeper into Harry’s neck. “Are you going to turn that bloody thing off?”

“Oh!” Harry waved his opposite hand at the alarm clock and the sound fizzled out. They’d need a new soon already, electronics never liked to be turned on or off by magic.

Pleased by the renewed silence, Draco gave a content little sound and hooked his leg around Harry’s under the covers. It appeared to be a signal to go back to sleep but it had a different effect on Harry.

He rolled forward to kiss Draco’s temple then his cheek then this jaw. Draco turned his face to give him permission to finally kiss his lips. It started as a peck like the others but, like a drunk man needing another hit from the bottle, he returned for a longer sip.

It began to stir him even more. However, when he pulled away for a momentary breath, he saw Draco’s face crumple up. “Your breath is horrid.”

Harry’s dark, lustful eyes widened. “You little-“ He broke off, shooting up to snatch his pillow and drop it over Draco’s head. “How’s my breath smell under there?”

Draco only laughed at Harry’s attempt to smother him. His voice was greatly muffled but Harry thought he heard, “Much better.”

Harry yanked the pillow away just so Draco could see his glare - or rather his pout. Draco wasn’t affected. He continued to grin madly even as he reached up to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I love you,” he hummed.

“Really? I can’t tell.” Harry attempted to keep pouting but Draco’s fingers in his hair and the smile on his face was melting it all away.

Draco gave a little hum of consideration then began to guide Harry’s face down again. He pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. “How about now?”

Almost all of Harry’s face had smoothed besides his fat bottom lip. “I thought you said my breath was horrid.”

A chuckle rumbled from Draco’s chest. “I suppose I can suffer through it just this once.” By the time Draco was pulling him back for another kiss, the corner of Harry’s mouth had begun to curve up.

They quickly picked up right where the left off before. Harry rolled onto his elbows to hover over Draco, not breaking the heated kiss. Draco’s fingers became twisted in his hair, tugging him closer. Their bare bodies twisted together. As their bodies began to take over, Harry left Draco’s lips to kiss up and down his neck.

He could truly stay here and do this all day although he almost wished Draco had a job just so he could send him off walking funny. A job... Why was that important? He opened his eyes to try to focus on his thoughts and instantly caught sight of his Auror’s uniform hanging on the back of the wardrobe door.

He pulled away with a loud groan. “I have to go to work.” He forced his body still and dropped his head into the pillow beside Draco’s head.

Draco panting in his ear didn’t help his cause. “Call in sick,” he whispered devilishly.

“Neither of us has an owl on hand and Ron would likely show up to check on me if I did find a way to notify them. Do you want that?”

Harry couldn’t see the smirk but he could hear it. “Actually,” he removed his hands from Harry’s head to scratch down his back, “I quite like the idea of him walking in on us,” he added more pressure as he neared Harry’s lumbar, eliciting a moan, “then maybe he’ll learn not to come by unannounced.”

“You’re evil,” Harry hissed.

Draco beamed once again. “So I’ve been told repeatedly.”

Harry lifted his head, a wicked smile on his lips. “Maybe I should arrest you.”

Draco’s smile faltered as he became overly flustered. Apparently Harry was just as good at throwing back flirty remarks as he was at insults.

While Draco tried not to let his excitement show, Harry could read it in his pink face and searching eyes. He chuckled before dropping to plant another kiss on Draco’s lips. “I have to go,” he murmured, still close enough for their lips to brush.

This time it was Draco who began to pout but Harry scrambled out of the bed before he could catch sight of it. The expression vanished when Harry got free of the sheets. Instead of jutting out his bottom lip, Draco began to chew on it, watching his boyfriend walk towards the bathroom.

Boyfriend…

Harry Potter was Draco’s boyfriend. Draco was glad Harry closed the door because that meant he couldn’t see Draco grinning to himself like a madman. After all of these years of pain and isolation, Draco had assumed he would never be happy again. He had completely given up on the notion of finding someone to spend his life with. He assumed that just wasn’t for people like him. Death Eaters didn’t get happy endings. No one else seemed to think he should get one and they made sure to tell him.

“You’re not going to tell anyone about this, right?” Draco asked as Harry exited the bathroom.

Harry froze in the doorway to consider Draco’s question. Harry could still remember the look on Ron’s face from the day before. He didn’t think he could keep this from him now. “Define anyone? The Weasleys already assume, what’s the harm in telling them?”

Draco was partially expecting Harry to mention Weasley and Granger but not the whole Weasley clan. “All of them?”

Harry shrugged. “Everyone at the party.”

Draco’s eyes popped open wide. “Finnigan and Thomas were there; Longbottom was there!” he added as if it added an extra layer of insanity.

Harry crossed the room to begin rutting through the dresser. He wasn’t going to have a conversation about his friends without his pants on. “Yeah,” he tugged on a set of boxers, “and I trust them.”

Draco twisted around on the bed to face him. “I don’t.”

Harry turned to face the bed again. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the dresser. “I don’t think Dean or Seamus will want much attention on a topic like this considering they’re situation, and Neville wouldn’t purposefully try to hurt anyone.”

“Why not?” snapped Draco. “I did horrible stuff to him back in school. This would be a perfect opportunity to get revenge.”

Harry sighed as he pushed off the dresser. He knelt onto the bed, moving close enough to hold Draco’s face in both of his hands. “Not everyone’s first instinct his revenge,” he said softly and pressed a gentle peck to Draco’s lips. “They’re my friends. I trust them all with my life, I _have_ trusted them all with my life,” he corrected. “They won’t try to hurt us. Besides,” his voice lifted to a lighter tone, “this means you can tell Pansy too.”

The uncertainty on Draco’s face transformed. He attempted to put up a mask but it was more telling than doing nothing. “What?” Harry pressed.

Draco shrugged, looking down at his hands. “She might already know.”

Harry dropped his hands from his face and sat back on his heels. “You already told her? How?” Draco didn’t have an owl and they’d been fairly occupied after they became official. He couldn’t picture Draco appariting to the post in Diagon Alley in the middle of the night to send a letter out – actually he could and it was a bit amusing.

“I didn’t!” Draco insisted. “She figured it out…” Harry eased but was still a little confused, “the first time she was over.”

“That was months ago! I don’t even think I realized I fancied you back then.”

Draco shrugged again. He began to fiddle with the blanket between them. “She could tell I fancied you.”

The way Draco blushed and refused to meet Harry’s eye did something heinous to Harry’s heart. He couldn’t believe Draco had liked him for that long. Then again, Harry didn’t think he could pinpoint the exact moment he realized he liked Malfoy either. Maybe it was during one of the Saturday they spent at the café. Maybe it happened while they were curled on the couch watching Will & Grace. Or maybe it started as early as watching Draco force himself how to use chopsticks, with that determined little crease between his eyebrows.

Harry sighed. “I guess we’re really bad at hiding it if everyone keeps figuring it out.”

Draco sighed as well and nodded. “Can we at least wait a while? I don’t want my mother to hear about this through the papers.” He looked back at Harry. “I think this is something that should be said in person.”

Harry tilted his head. “She already said it was all right with her.”

“Too you,” Draco insisted. “You don’t know her like I do. She might act like she’s okay with it while secretly hoping it’s a phase. Either way, I want to hear it from her myself.”

Narcissa and Pansy weren’t the only people in Draco’s life. Harry hesitated, uncertain if he should even hint at it. They needed to be on the same page though. “And your father?”

Draco shifted on the bedsheets. He twiddled with the white linin he had laid over his left arm. “I don’t think he’ll approve of anything I ever do anymore.”

Harry picked up his arm through the covers. Draco didn’t pull away. He only watched as Harry brought his arm up to his mouth and planted a kiss to the center of the mark. He pulled away, lacing their fingers together before dropping their hands between them again. “Then we’ll only tell the important people and deal with the rest later.”

Draco gave a confirming nod.

A smile split across Harry’s lips. He pulled on their connected hands, leading Draco forward as he leaned down. “I love you,” he hummed, pleased by how his tenderness made Draco light up like a tomato.

Draco attempted to remain cool, rolling his eyes. “I love you, too, Prat.”

Draco waited for Harry to close the small gap between them but he never did. Instead he reveled in watching Draco’s expression while wearing that bloody smug smile. Draco gave in, pushing hard against Harry as some form of retribution. Harry only smiled wider against his lips.

After a moment, Harry tore away and sprung from the bed like it was on fire. “Fuck! Work!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Idiot,” he said in the most loving way humanly possible.

* * *

“You seem oddly chipper today,” Ron said as if he was noting that Harry appeared ill.

“Do I?” Harry hummed. He pushed aside the door to the sandwich shop they often went to for lunch.

Ron gave him an apprehensive look before he walked through the door that Harry held open for him. “Did something happen?”

Harry simply lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. He figured they should probably be sitting to have this conversation. Ron was still visibly unsettled. They received their orders then picked a table near the windows. Silence still hung between them. Harry swallowed down his first bite and finally tore his eyes from the passerby on the street.

“I spoke to _him_ ,” Harry broke the silence, a quizzical expression split across Ron’s face, “about what you told me yesterday.”

It only took a moment for Ron to catch on. He dropped the chip he was about to put in his mouth. As if it was hard liquor, Ron snatched up his water and took a quick gulp of it before settling his full attention on Harry. After another quick scan of Harry’s person, Ron said, “So things went well I presume?”

A grin stretched across Harry’s face. “Very.”

Ron sat back, shaking his head. “Okay, I don’t want details,” he said hurriedly.

Harry shrugged. “All right.”

Ron frowned. “So there are details to be given?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded slowly, “but you said you didn’t want to hear them.”

“No, no,” Ron shook his head again, even more profusely now, “I don’t, I’m just surprised.” Harry tilted his head quizzically. “Well, I was sort betting on you pulling away before you caught the snitch, if you know what I mean. But…you liked it?”

“That depends.” Harry was trying very hard not to smile too broadly now. “Do you want details?” He never planned on describing any of it to Ron but he was finding great amusement in watching his friend squirm. His ears were growing redder by the second.

“No, no!” Ron exclaimed. “No details, please.”

Ron still looked a little apprehensive. “I’ll put it this way,” Harry said, “we’re still together aren’t we?”

Ron nodded slowly. He grabbed his glass of water again, this time taking several more long gulps. Harry lost his ability to restrain his laughter any longer. Ron gave him a severe glare from the top of his cup.

He finally stopped pretending to be a fish and put his glass down. There was a deep crease in his brow and it began to bring Harry down he even spoke. “Can I ask you one question though?”

Harry’s coughed out the last of his laughter. He took a sip from his own drink to sooth his throat as he nodded. “Go ahead.”

Ron hesitated. He drummed his fingers across the table once as he collected his thoughts then he finally spoke. “You weren’t faking it with my sister, right?”

Harry sat up straight. “What? No, of course not! I loved Ginny.” A deep ache in his chest made his shoulders fall. The memory of hurting her rolled through his brain and he suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. “We weren’t good for each other.”

Ron nodded. “It’s just… I have my suspicions about Dean and now you… I don’t want people using my sister like that.”

“School was a confusing time for everyone,” Harry pressed. “I can’t speak for Dean but I know I cared about her, I still do. Besides, it’s Ginny; I’d feel bad for anyone who tried to use her just to get Hollyhead tickets.”

Ron gave a tutting sound, a crooked smile curving half of his face. “Yeah, you have a point. I’m scared to take the last muffin if she wants it.” The mumbled admission made Harry burst out laughing again. Ron joined him this time.

When they began to settle, they both picked up their food again to resume eating. The previous tension had lifted. Ron swallowed down a few more chips before speaking again. “I’ll talk to ‘Mione, maybe we can all have dinner or something.”

Harry perked up. “All of us?” Was Ron really volunteering to spend time with Draco?

It didn’t even appear too forced when Ron nodded. In an instant, Harry’s light heart became weightless.

* * *

When it was time to go home, Harry hurried to pack up his things and leave. Ron didn’t even attempt to slow him down. In fact, he headed off Neville before he could ask Harry a question, allowing him to slip out.

Even though it was Tuesday, he couldn’t force himself to Floo to Grimmauld. Maybe he’d bring a shiny new quid for Kreacher to add to his collection as an apology the next time he visited. However this fleeting thought was his only remorse and it too vanished when he arrived in front of the apartment building.

He took the lift up.

When he got to the front door, he waved the usual _Alohomora_ over it and stepped inside. The sound of clinking from the kitchen caught Harry’s attention. He hurried around the small lip of wall that shielded the entrance from the kitchen and found Draco glaring at the stove.

“Hey, back away slowly from the electric stove,” Harry ordered. “Haven’t we been over this?”

Draco snapped his head up. “You’re home already?” He whirled around looking for a clock until he found that it was in fact five past 6 o’clock. His shoulders fell. “Oh, I didn’t notice the time.”

Harry tugged off his cloak and hung it up on the hook, dropping his bag below it, before returning to the kitchen. “Why are you in the kitchen? I thought nearly burning the place down once was enough.”

“I’m a perfectly capable potioneer, I can make Chicken Alfredo for my boyfriend if I want to,” Draco said stubbornly.

A smile spread across Harry’s face at the word ‘boyfriend’ before he could even attempt to restrain it. Harry crinkled his nose and made a soft, discontent noise as he stepped closer. Draco noticed it and looked up just before Harry wrapped his arms around him. “I think I rather have something else for dinner.”

A tomato red blush spread over Draco’s cheeks, making him appear only more appetizing. He looked back to the stove, trying to battle the smile on his lips. “After a proper meal.”

Harry sighed but nodded. “Okay but why don’t I help you? I think it would be more enjoyable to eat if the flat is still standing afterwards.

“Will you keep your hands to yourself?”

Harry looked up, pretending to consider his words. After only a moment, he looked back at Draco and shook his head. “No.” As if proving his point, he closed the gap between them to press a long kiss to Draco’s lips.

Draco had spent the whole day trying to stay distracted so he wouldn’t watch the clock. He reordered their whole wardrobe and then moved on to do the kitchen cupboards as well. He’d been going through the fridge when he decided was going to attempt dinner again for Harry. However, now that Harry had returned, all of that didn’t seem to matter anymore. He just wanted to keep kissing Harry.

Their simple kiss evolved quickly. Their day of longing culminating to far more pint up energy than either had realized until now. Draco was backed up into the counter. It only made them more heated, their bodies as pressed together as humanly possible while still wearing clothes. That barrier started to be removed as well as Harry’s hands roamed beneath Draco’s shirt.

Draco pushed back just enough to speak, his voice breathy, “Dinner.”

“Fine,” Harry groaned. Despite what sounded like compliance, Harry caught his lips again for an agonizingly long and slow kiss. When he pulled away, he stepped back completely out of Draco’s reach.

Draco stared at him through dark eyes. His legs felt like jelly. He wasn’t too far gone not to notice the smug smirk on Harry’s lips. “Wanker,” he mumbled.

Never before had Draco thought that helping someone cook could involve so much sexual tension. That night they finished eating in record time.

The rest of the week followed a similar routine as well as the next. The weekends called for some changes. Ron and Hermione invited them over for dinner on Sunday and it went shockingly well. Harry had never noticed before how similar Hermione’s and Draco’s interests were. For a heart stopping moment, he thought something bad was going to happen when they got into a heated discussion about the morality of time turners but when he and Ron tried to intervene, they both received vicious looks for interrupting such a riveting debate.

Work wasn’t going too bad for Harry either. He was getting reprimanded far less at the very least. Robards even praised him one day for getting reports in more regularly though this was only because Harry desperately wanted to go home now.

It felt like Harry’s life was playing out the happy ending of a story. A rose-colored haze covered his eyes wherever he looked. It only increased exponentially whenever he looked at Draco.

The following Saturday, they resumed their tradition of going to the café – the previous weekend they had been too reluctant to get out of bed fully clothed. They walked hand-in-hand down the street. It wasn’t too unlike usual though they were typically more discreet and Harry would hold Draco’s wrist rather than his hand. This felt much better.

It was only once they were about halfway there that Harry got a sudden cool chill. His steps slowed as he glanced around looking for the eyes he felt on his back. “Harry?” Draco asked cautiously. “Are you all right?” He tightened his hold on Harry’s hand.

It wasn’t unusual for Harry to grow stiff suddenly. He was still trying to be less paranoid outside of work. Draco’s presence always helped. When he saw no one watching them other than an unhappy elderly couple on the front terrace of a restaurant across the street, he sighed and shook his head. While their skin was fairly wrinkled and pale, neither were Voldemort coming back to kill him. He turned back to Draco. “I’m fine.”

Draco squeezed his hand again and they continued walking.

The familiar chime over the door sounded their entrance. For a moment, they were too distracted with their conversation to notice anything different about their surroundings. It was only when Harry looked up to greet Heather that he faltered.

“Pansy?” both men chorused. Pansy was leaning over the counter, nearly tipping over the cup of coffee in front of her as she whispered to Heather.

She twisted around in a flurry. The shock on her face faded quickly. “Oh, it’s just you guys.” She sighed and picked up her mug. “I thought my mum followed me again.”

“I didn’t know you started coming here,” said Draco.

“Yes, well, I don’t usually come here on Saturdays,” she said. “It’s family day, you know.”

Draco eyed his longest and dearest friend. The prim, pureblooded girl looked entirely content to lean against the counter of this muggle establishment, sipping on a cup of coffee that was clearly not wizard made. This wasn’t the first time she’d stopped by without them. “When do you come?”

“Almost never anymore since my boss told her off for distracting his employees,” Heather piped in, sliding a look at the woman.

Pansy rolled here eyes. “That whole mess with that machine of yours,” she gestured at the espresso machine with a scowl on her face, “was not my fault. I didn’t tell you to stare at my bum.”

Heather’s face became as red as the scrunch she used to pull back her curls today. Draco and Harry shared a look before turning to the pair of girls again.

“Are you two…” Draco trailed off, gesturing between the pair.

“The term you’re looking for is shagging,” Pansy said.

“Dating!” Heather corrected. “The term is dating and you are lucky no one else is in here right now.” She narrowed her eyes at Pansy who simply smirked in return. “For a witch you aren’t very discrete.”

“She knows!” Draco and Harry bellowed simultaneously.

“Of course,” Pansy waved her arm between them, “I do not have secrets in my relationships. It’s very unhealthy.”

“And she doesn’t know how to switch on a light without her wand.”

“Pansy,” Harry said warily.

“Oh shut it, Auror Potter, I know the rules,” Pansy urged. “We’re allowed to tell our significant others if they are muggles as long as we are prepared to clean it up if it goes wrong, which it didn’t. I only told her a few days ago, I haven’t gotten around to filing it at the ministry.”

Harry opened his mouth to comment but she went on. “Besides, I have a feeling not that many people know about that there.” She gestured at the men’s intertwined fingers. “Apparently I’m not the only one not keeping everyone up to date on their relationship?” She narrowed her eyes accusingly at Draco.

Heather frowned. “Wait, you two weren’t together before?”

Draco’s and Harry’s mouths fell open simultaneously as they turned a look on one another then back on the girls. “What do you mean?” Harry pressed. “All this time you thought we were dating?”

“Honestly I would have assumed you were married if you’d been wearing rings.”

Their mouths practically touched the floor. Pansy snorted. “Told you so.”

“We aren’t that obvious,” Draco snapped.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Please, there’s been tension between you two since your voices started changing,” the pair of men blushed even harder if it was possible, “only we all assumed it was homicidal, not sexual. That’s clearly changed though.”

“I think I’ve changed my mind,” Draco declared loudly, pulling on Harry’s hand. “That Stardeer place looked fairly popular. It’s likely good, right?”

“Wait, no,” Heather called, waving after them. “Don’t leave; I’ll keep her in line. I want to hear all about how you two got together.”

“Keep _me_ in line?” Pansy exclaimed loudly.

Heather sent her a sharp look that instantly quieted the women. “Yes, Dear.” She pulled her mug to her lips, sipping quietly. Draco burst out in laughter. Never before had he seen the boisterous woman so utterly whipped.

Harry tried not to laugh as well to avoid Pansy’s ire but he found it difficult.

“Go sit down, I’ll bring you your usual,” Heather urged, flapping her hands towards their normal table.

They did as told. Pansy trailed after them, pulling a seat up to join them. “So, when did this happen?” she asked, gesturing between the men.

“Almost two weeks ago,” Draco answered without hesitation, surprising Harry that he remembered the exact date. For him, all the days had simply been mushed together, simultaneously making it feel like it was only yesterday and also years ago.

Draco made the same gesture between her and Heather. “And when did this happen?”

“Three months,” Pansy answered just as easily.

Draco’s eyes became the size of bludgers. “And you never told me?” He looked absolutely betrayed.

She shrugged. “I came by the weekend after you brought me here and we started talking. Harry was hurt at the time though and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Draco’s face fell. “Bother me? Why would talking about a girl bother me? Did something else happen?”

Pansy’s eyes fell to her cup which was nearly empty, she took another sip nonetheless. Draco waited patiently. He wasn’t going to allow this topic to drop. She sighed. “I got into another fight with my mother.”

Draco looked stilted. He was well aware of Pansy’s issues with her mother. Pricilla Parkinson’s expectations for her daughter were what drove her to work for the Daily Prophet in the first place, in hopes to follow her mother’s footsteps as Editor in Chief. However, Pansy had always been content in the gossip columns or fashion commentary which wasn’t going to get her a promotion anytime soon. The woman also had an innate hatred for anything muggle.

“Don’t worry,” Pansy assured, seeing Draco’s guilt swim in his eyes. She looked over her shoulder where Heather was frothing their drinks. “Heather was there for me.” She turned forward again, a soft flush budding over her cheeks as she looked back at her cup. “I’m actually really happy everything worked out how it did.”

“Wow, Pans, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in love before,” Draco teased mildly.

Pansy didn’t try to hide her smirk, her eyes flickering up to him. She turned a pointed look at Harry, a well-groomed brow raised high. “You either, _Dray_.”

Harry rolled his eyes but knocked the side of his foot against Draco’s leg beneath the table. Draco bit his lip.

Heather soon arrived with their drinks. “It’s a slow day. If you wait around long enough, maybe we can all go to lunch together.”

It was agreed upon then and around noon Heather started getting ready to go. Her boss returned just in time for her to tell him she was headed out early. He had little qualms other than to give Pansy a pointed look and comment on her kidnapping his employees. She rolled her eyes in return but it held little malice.

Lunch had been a good idea. Heather managed to force Draco and Harry to tell them some of their story which included sideline commentary from Pansy – mostly involving her rolling her eyes and making faces about different events during school. She also clearly wanted to ask more about magic but they’d chosen a muggle restaurant to go to so they avoided the topic.

There was an odd spark of discussion between Draco and Heather about muggle medical practices. Heather told him about her studies in medical school which greatly intrigued him. Harry couldn’t help but think Draco, Hermione, and Heather would be a great force to be reckoned with if they all combined their brain power.

Harry wasn’t bored while they talked like this. He was actually greatly entertained by Pansy attempting to slyly get information out of him for the Prophet. She didn’t restrain her personal opinion about anything. Not blinking as she called several Aurors and Wizengamot members idiots. She appeared to hope it would open him up to do the same. Of course it didn’t work and she seemed to know it but she was a far more amusing interviewer than he’d ever had before – except for maybe the time he let Luna interview him for the Quibbler.

Once they’d finished up, they said their goodbyes and the girls went on their way while the boys started towards their own flat. They didn’t get very far before Harry realized they were near Grimmauld and decided to stop by to check up on Kreacher and pick up any post that had been dropped by.

Kreacher was almost delighted to see Draco and attempted to feed them again. They barely managed to talk him out of it. “Oh, I wanted to grab another pair of jeans, I’m running out too quickly. I’ll be right back.”

Harry left Draco in the kitchen with the house-elf to go up to his room. He really shouldn’t call it his room anymore. He hadn’t spent a night there in months. The building still felt cold as he walked through it but it no longer felt like it was out to get him. It was just an empty shell full of good and bad memories alike.

With a little work, it might actually be quite nice. Replacing with the old wallpaper with a layer of fresh paint and finding a curse-breaker who could finally unstick some of the portraits on the walls. Just taking down the thick curtains which lined every window would probably do it wonders. While he couldn’t picture living here again, he also couldn’t see just leaving such a place empty to rot. Even a place like this deserved the chance to heal.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco’s voice hummed.

Harry took his hand from the curtain, brushing the dust against his jeans. Draco was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Just about how much has changed.” His eyes skimmed the old room which he once shared with Ron so many years ago.

Draco crossed the room with two of his wide steps to snake his arms around Harry’s neck. “I hope you mean for the better.”

Harry tore his eyes from the dusty outline on the wall where Phineas Nigellus Black’s portrait once hung. He met Draco’s eyes, a smile pulling onto his lips. “Definitely for the better.” He wrapped his arms securely around Draco, pressing him to his body. “Especially some recent changes.”

Draco’s eyes sparkled, his own lips curving up. Harry closed the distance. In an instant, another happy memory was created within these walls. Pain really didn’t mean something wasn’t worth saving.

“Ready?” Draco asked after they pulled away.

Harry nodded. He took Draco’s hand and twined their fingers together. “What to walk home? It’s a nice day.”

“Sounds perfect,” Draco agreed.

After saying their farewells to Kreacher, they started towards the apartment. They decided to take the long way back. This meant passing Allure, the gay club he used to pass every night and tried to pretend he didn’t notice. He didn’t feel self-conscious about looking at the rainbow flag above the door this time though; if anything he felt a short burst of pride in his chest when he glanced at it.

They’re turn was before old bar Harry usually got pissed at each nigh but he didn’t feel cheated by not going to it. In truth, he’d nearly forgotten about it.

Walking through London holding Draco’s hand, Harry found that he still had those rose-colored glasses on and it felt like he had a permanent sticking charm keeping them on his face. His friends were safe and happy. He had Draco all to himself. He hadn’t even had as many nightmares recently. He was so unbelievably happy.

Harry pulled them to a stop in front of the apartment building. Draco gave him a quizzical look but it was cut off when Harry pressed another kiss to his lips. It was a soft, short kiss but it said everything Harry was feeling without words.

Draco raised a brow. “What was that for?”

Harry only smiled. “I love you.”

An uncertain smile stretched Draco’s face as he narrowed his eyes at Harry. “I love you, too?” he phrased it more like a question than a statement. When Harry had nothing to say in return, he rolled his eyes and gave a light shove. “Freak.”

* * *

Things kept getting better and better. Tuesday evening, Harry and Draco were curled up on the sofa together. Harry had his head in Draco’s lap as the television played though neither was watching; they were too involved in their conversation about a letter Draco had received.

“She really wants us to visit her,” Draco sighed as he carded his fingers though Harry’s messy locks. Narcissa had sent her monthly letter which held the usual update on how she was doing and asking how Draco was and ended with an artfully written plea for them to visit her in France.

“I can talk to Robards,” Harry said. “I might be able to get a week’s leave if I ask nicely. I’ve actually always wanted to travel.”

Draco pursed his lips. “Visiting my mother in Versailles isn’t traveling. We could visit Paris for a day or two but that’s no way experience it for the first time. You’ll need more than a week to do it properly.” He pulled gently on Harry’s roots. “I’m sure Saint Potter could get more time though.”

Harry rolled his eyes but a smirk played on his lips. He sat up and turned to face Draco, his smile widening. “I rather use my saintliness to get something else.”

Draco quirked a brow as Harry leaned closer. “Hm? That doesn’t sound very ‘saintly’ to me.”

Once again Harry pulled out a response which absolutely sent Draco. “I don’t know, I think I can have you saying ‘oh my God’ pretty soon.”

Draco swallowed hard. Why was this the only time Harry was clever and Draco was absolutely dumbfounded?

Harry saved Draco from his own embarrassment by catching his lips with his own. It was hot and fast to begin with. Draco laid back into the sofa, Harry pressing down on top of him, hips rolling. Draco began to tug Harry’s shirt up-

**_BANG!_ **

The couple flew apart. They turned towards the sound to see someone on the balcony, pounding against the door. Harry fell off the sofa, scrambling for his wand.

“Wait, wait!” Draco urged him. “It’s Pansy.”

Harry’s heart was still pounding out of his chest but he gave the figure a better look. Sure enough, it was Pansy Parkinson standing outside in the dark with a petrified expression on her face.

Draco hurried over to open the door. “What the hell, Pansy? What are you doing out there?” he questioned.

“I was too distracted, I missed your kitchen,” she huffed as she rushed inside.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, rubbing the side of his head where he’d hit it against the coffee table.

She was trembling from head to toe. Her pale face had somehow lost even more color, her eyes wide and overly bright. “I- I’m sorry. I tried to stop it, they wouldn’t listen to me. It’ll be everywhere tomorrow morning.”

“What are you on about?” Draco asked. He placed his hands on her shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze as he tried to catch her eyes. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

“I have a friend who showed me because he knows I watch out for Draco and because I’m in it too,” she said nonsensically. “I tried to stop it but it’s too big of a story. They won’t drop it.”

Dread began to twist in Draco’s gut. “What story?”

Pansy opened and closed her mouth several times before she finally met Draco’s eyes. “About you and Harry. The Daily Prophet is releasing a story about you and Harry in the papers tomorrow.”

And suddenly, the rose-colored glasses finally fell off.


	21. Cleaning Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally all of my plans for this year have been ruined but goddamn I'm getting a lot of writing done. Hope everyone's staying safe. Thank you all for reading!

Pansy left after a cup of tea which Draco forced her to drink to calm her down. She continually apologized to Draco about letting it get out but of course he didn’t blame her; if she’d been the one to leak the story then she wouldn’t have included herself and Heather in the pictures. Draco offered to let her stay the night so she wouldn’t have to be home when her mother got the paper but she had the feeling the men needed some alone time.

Once she’d left around midnight, it became very quiet in the flat. Harry didn’t know what to do. He wanted to do something. He couldn’t exactly storm into the Daily Prophet and stop the printing process. It would only delay the inevitable. They likely had the pictures stashed away somewhere and there was no telling how many people knew already. There was no stopping it.

At the very least, Pansy’s warning had given Draco enough time to write a letter to his mother which Pansy had taken with her to send as soon as she got home. Hopefully her owl would reach Narcissa before the gossip did. Even if his mother already did have her suspicion, Draco knew she’d want to hear the news from him first.

“I won’t go to work tomorrow,” Harry said to the black ceiling above them. They both laid on their backs in the bed. The alarm clock’s menacing red numbers showed a quart past three. Neither had spoken since Pansy had left.

“That will only make it worse,” Draco’s voice croaked from neglect. “People will be left to simmer longer.”

“Do I deny it?”

“From what Pansy says, it would be impossible.” A shiver ran down Draco’s body. He felt properly violated. “They have pictures of us kissing.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand that. We’re careful. We don’t kiss outside of the apartment.”

“I don’t know but everyone is going to see it tomorrow and we can’t hide from it.”

“What do I say?”

“Nothing for now, just… There’s nothing to say. It’s private.”

“My life has never been private, Dray.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the headache beginning to form behind his eyes. “They aren’t going to accept that.”

Draco sat up straight. “Well, I don’t know then, Harry!” he snapped. “What do we say in this situation? During my trials I could at least say I was innocent or that I didn’t agree with what the Dark Lord did.” His voice grew continually louder as he threw his arms in the air. “The wizarding world is still working through century old prejudices about blood purity. We aren’t exactly the most accepting people.” He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers twisting into his platinum locks. “They’re going to hate us.”

Harry sat up. “Hey,” he said softly. His heart sunk when Draco instinctively recoiled from Harry’s hand on his back. Draco quickly muttered and apology and leaned back into his touch. Harry moved his hand slowly up and down, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “We knew we would have to do this eventually. We’re going to get through this. All of the people who matter already know and they accept us. The rest can honestly fuck off.”

Draco gave a soft snort. Harry took that as permission to move closer. He used his other hand to guide Draco’s face towards him. “We’ve got each other. I’m not letting anyone get in the way of that. I’m calling in my savior rights. I died for them, the least they could do is let me have this.”

Draco shook his head slowly, Harry’s finger remaining curled under his chin. “They won’t see it like that. They’ll only see what they want. They’ll call you a traitor.”

“I don’t care what they call me,” Harry said solemnly. He really didn’t anymore. The world had always given him a bad hand but even he deserved one thing to work out in his favor. He pinched Draco’s chin, bringing him a centimeter closer. “We’re in this together though, okay? No matter what happens, neither of us is going anywhere. We’re not letting them take this from us too.”

He felt Draco’s chin tremble but he gave a heavy nod nonetheless. Harry pulled him closer, catching his lips with his own. Draco kissed him back with just as much determination as Harry gave. However, Harry’s heart clenched as he felt the warm tear roll over his thumb and it took everything in him not to let his own eyes water.

The kiss didn’t last long but Harry would be damned if he was going to let them sleep apart that night. He wrapped his arms securely around Draco’s waist and pulled them back down against the bed. Draco rested his head against his chest. Harry knew he’d be able to hear how unsteady his heart felt but all he could do was give a short squeeze as some attempt of reassurance.

They would get through this. They were strong enough to do this. At least Harry hoped so, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they weren’t.

* * *

Leaving Draco home alone the next day felt wrong. Harry had a feeling he’d be coming home to a thoroughly scrubbed flat. He knew how quick Draco was to overthink. This was going to eat him alive. Nevertheless, Draco refused to let him stay.

They kissed goodbye. It wasn’t the light, chaste kiss they usually left each other with. It held the same determination as the one from the night before, both trying to urge some strength into one another.

Harry walked to work that day, trying to prolong what was about to happen.

The moment he stepped into the ministry it was second, fourth, and fifth year all over again. He was once again the heir of Slytherin. He was once again the second Hogwarts champion. He was once again the Boy Who Lied. Everyone stared. Everyone whispered.

However, having dealt with such treatment so many times before, he could bear it. What he could handle was the sympathetic looks, the worried glances. He had a feeling that some of Draco’s original concerns about their relationship were being proven before his eyes.

He passed the Dailey Prophet stand. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the front page with two figures standing far too close. He refused to look. He refused to give them the reaction they were looking for.

He managed to get to the lift without anyone speaking to him outright. They were likely still trying to process the news. It was still early. Some might have only heard whispers and were yet to even read the actual article.

He wasn’t the first to get to the lift but the other occupants shifted out of his way. “Level two,” he barked at the attendant. They complied, tapping their wand to the numbers by the door.

A wizened Wizard who’d been rushing towards the lift pulled to an abrupt stop when he heard Harry’s voice. Harry recognized him the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

“Are you getting on, sir?” asked the attendant.

The man straightened. His eyes flickered up and down Harry’s form – who was trying very hard to look past him. He folded the newspaper in his hand and stuffed it under his armpit. “I’ll wait for the next one, thank you.”

Harry’s jaw clamped down so hard that he was certain the attendant heard. He hurried with the door and the lift began to move. Thankfully, Harry was the only one who had to get out on level two – or the only one willing to. The moment the door closed again behind him, he dropped his shoulders and let out the long exhale of breath he’d been holding. If this was just the start of it, what else was he in for?

He summoned up that famous Gryffindor courage and pulled himself up again. He could do this. He had to. He wasn’t going to let the first bump in the road ruin what he had with Draco.

He swept into the Auror’s office. The secretaries up front jumped away from one another when they saw him, dropping their hushed conversation. The pair of women gave forceful smiles but their eyes held the same concern he’d seen earlier. He’d always gotten along well with the girls up front but he was biting back the urge to hex them both.

He offered his usual good morning, which they returned though a bit stilted, and shouldered into the main office area.

“It can’t be true.”

“Does it look fake to you because it doesn’t to me?”

“But it’s Potter, he’s not a-”

“Good morning, Potter!” Auror Nettle exclaimed loudly.

The group of Aurors crowded around a desk quickly jumped apart. Cobris shunted paper behind his back. Harry narrowed his eyes. The mass of witches and wizards shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Er, have you been feeling all right, Potter?” asked Fir.

Harry crossed his arms, hiding his white fists. “Just fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” He glanced nervously at the other Aurors around him. When no one would speak up, he continued. “We’re just concerned, you see. You haven’t eaten or drank something strange?”

Harry could feel his knuckles ache as the skin stretched across them. His jaw flexed. “Not that I recall.”

Cobris stepped forward. “Look, mate, I have a cousin who was put under a love potion. Nasty stuff that is. You don’t know it’s happening though. He swore up and down that he was fine until we forced him to St. Mungo’s.”

Harry shook his head. Of course Draco was right. “You all think I’m under a love potion do you?”

“That or the Imperius Curse,” said Cobris. “How else would you explain snogging Draco Malfoy in the streets? We aren’t judging. You’re clearly under the influence. He’s a Death Eater for Merlin’s sake, no one in their right mind would look his way other than to spit at his shoes.”

Saying Harry was crazy was one thing. Insulting Draco right in front of him was crossing a line. Harry dropped his arms and lurched forward. Everyone jumped back in alarm, seeing the rage in his eyes. He likely would have committed homicide had two sets of arms not suddenly grabbed him and pulled him back.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Ron roared from Harry’s side. Harry hadn’t heard Ron or Neville arrive but they were both holding him back now.

“Your partner needs help,” snapped Cobris. “Have you seen the papers?” He pulled the rolled up paper from behind his back to offer it to Ron. “He’s obviously under the influence of something. It’s even making him hostile.”

Ron batted away the paper. “I’ve seen the papers and I know my partner. He’s not under any influence. There’s no news so get over yourselves and get back to work.”

Fir stepped forward. “You’re blinded by your friendship, you’re trying to be a good friend and be supportive but that’s not helping him.” He looked at Neville. “Come on, Longbottom, you’re friends with Potter, too. You have to see this isn’t right. Talk to him.”

“I agree with, Auror Weasley,” said Neville. “None of us belong in Auror Potter’s personal business. We should all get back to work.”

Ron and Neville loosened their grip on Harry but Ron mumbled for him to take a breath outside with him. Harry nodded numbly, his eyes still fixed on the crowd of Aurors. They started to walk away when Corbis snapped, “A Death Eater has your friend brainwashed and you’re just gonna stand around watch it happen? He could be raping him for all you know.”

Harry lunged. Ron and Neville barely managed to hall him back. A slew of profanity spilled out of Harry’s mouth as he tried to break free. His only saving grace was Neville having enough sense to charm his tongue mute.

The sound of a door banging open echoed over the ruckus. “What in Merlin’s name is going on out here?” Robards stomped out of his office, already appearing stressed and disheveled.

He surveyed the scene before him. Harry held back by Ron and Neville as soundless words came out of his mouth. Cobris shoved back by several of his colleagues as he barely cut himself off from his own ranting. It was utter anarchy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were all still at Hogwarts,” Robards boomed. “Is this really how the most elite witches and wizards in the British Ministry behave? If so, maybe it’s time to start clearing the deck and getting new recruits. Maybe they will act like actual adults!”

The room was so silent a pin could have dropped and be heard by all. Or, rather, heard by most. Harry’s ears were still ringing, barely registering Robards’ reprimand. His eyes remained locked on Cobris, like a hungry animal ready to strike the moment it was released.

“Auror Potter,” Robards barked. “In my office, now.” Ron and Neville hesitated to release him but Harry made an effort to straighten up. “Cobris, I’ll be speaking to you later.” Harry became eased by a fraction and they finally let go. Neville shot the counter to the silencing charm before he got too far away.

Harry’s eyes remained on Cobris as he passed, never breaking until he passed fully.

He followed Robards all the way to the Head Auror office. The door swung closed behind them. There was a shutter in the air as the Silencing charms which layered the room reignited with the click of the latch.

“I’ve had to call you into my office for a lot things, Potter,” Robards said, making his way to behind his desk, “but never, in a million years, did I think this,” he threw a copy of the Daily Prophet down, “would be one of them.”

Harry leveled a look on the man. Normally, Harry tried to show the man a great margin of respect – he reminded him greatly of a tired combination of Dumbledore and Lupin – however he wasn’t about to sit through more slander if that’s what he had planned. “It’s really none of anyone’s business who I snog,” he said tersely.

Robards snapped his head up. His eyes narrowed. He slowly pressed his hands onto his desk and leaned forward. “Be very careful how you speak to me right now, Auror Potter. I’m about to do hell of a lot of media cleanup for your sake so you better treat me like I’m your damn best friend.”

Harry didn’t respond. He continued to grind his teeth, dropping his eyes away.

Robards took this as a slim form of an apology and lowered himself into his chair. “Of course, I could have helped you avoid this ever happening if you would have told me in the first place.”

Harry’s eyes snapped back to him. “It’s none of your business who I’m with.”

“In other jobs, sure,” Robards agreed with a nod, “but not in this one. I would have thought, given your history, you would understand that.” He smacked the locked drawer of his thick, wooden desk. “I have all of my people’s loved ones on file – their jobs, their habits, everything. A lot of dark witches and wizards would love that information because that’s how you properly threaten an Auror.

“The reason I have it is so I can protect them. So long as their name is in my desk, and they are not a public figure in their own right, then the Daily Prophet and any other media outlet cannot publicly connect them to any of my people.

“I don’t give a fuck who you snog, Potter. I care about your safety because that’s my job. However, if you’re going to threaten the safety of the rest of my people over this, then maybe it’s time for you to take a break.”

Harry swallowed down the ball in his throat. “No, sir, that won’t be necessary. I’m sorry for my behavior.”

Robards assessed his sincerity for a long moment before finally giving a stiff nod. He wordlessly gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Harry sat down.

“Now, onto the matter at hand,” he tapped the paper, “do you have any idea where this came from? You’re an idiot but you aren’t stupid. I can’t imagine you’d be too public about this sort of thing.”

With great reluctance, Harry finally brought his eyes to the newspaper. He hadn’t even wanted to glance it. He knew was going to spin something horrible about Draco. It was a coin toss of how he’d make out in the whole thing – poor savior or war traitor.

He picked up the paper. The first thing that caught his eye was the picture which was front and center and took up nearly a whole column on its own. There was no denying it was Harry or Draco. In the photo, Harry pulled Draco to a stop, earned a confused look from Draco, and pulled him in for a sweet kiss.

Harry sat up in his chair, a deep frown on his face. He ran his finger over the background. “How is that possible?”

Robards raised a brow. “It’s not real?”

Harry shook his head. “It is, but-” He opened the paper to the following page where two more pictures were scattered. One was of Harry and Draco walking down the street holding hands. The next was taken from outside a restaurant, looking into a window where Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Heather sat talking and laughing.

“What is it?” Robards pressed.

“This one was taken in front of Draco’s apartment building,” Harry pointed at the picture on the front page. He flipped it and pointed at the one of them holding hands. “And this one was just around the corner.”

“And that’s relevant because?”

Harry looked up at the man. “No one knows where Draco lives. It’s a closed file; you had to give me his address the day he was attacked. The only people who know are me, Pansy Parkinson, Narcissa Malfoy, Ron, and Hermione. No one who would have a reason to do something like this,” he waved the paper.

“So? They must have followed you home one day.”

Harry shook his head. “I apparate home every day. The only times I haven’t were when I left Grimmauld and that’s still warded to high hell, and I’ve never come across a wizard in that area. Someone had to know they would find us there.” Harry looked back down at the image of him and Draco kissing. “They must have been following us all day.” He remembered the few chills he had gotten that day and written off as his hyperawareness. He should have trusted his instincts.

“I’ll look into it.”

Harry gave him a shrewd look. “That’s what you said last time I told you there was a leak in the department.” He tossed the paper on the desk to punctuate his statement, too tense to feel remorse.

Robards didn’t reprimand him this time. He let out a long sigh. “And I regret not taking you seriously but there is nothing I can do about it now. We’ll just have to do what we can to clean this up.” He picked up the paper and began to fold it back up. “For now I’m putting you on light duty. I think it would be best if you stay in the office as much as possible while this sorts itself out.”

“Do you think it will?”

Robards took another look at the picture on front of the paper. He let out an exhale and picked his wand off his desk. “I think the best we can do right now is wait and see.” He tapped his wand to the locked drawer and it popped open. He dropped the paper inside and closed it again. He looked back to Harry. “Please, try to have some self-control right now. I don’t want to have to fire you over this.”

Harry nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Despite Robards’ attempts to keep Harry within the Auror Office, it was a busy day with several high profile cases sending people out into the field, and thus no one else was around when a disturbance in Knockturn Alley was called in.

It was a routine call. There were always skirmishes in Knockturn especially with school nearing. Not only was the two man patrol stuck in Diagon dealing with controlling the masses, but kids liked to use the time to their advantage to sneak away. Several usually got spouts bravery before they were sent packing back to Hogwarts and would venture down the dark alley as a last hurrah. It wasn’t rare to end in a visit to Saint Mungo’s but that didn’t stop them.

The fact that Harry was going alone clearly didn’t sit well with Robards either but there was no one else around. Harry being benched hadn’t paused the case he and Ron had been working on therefore he was out tracking leads. Neville, who was usually content to hold down the office, apologized to Harry several times after Robards reassigned him to assist Ron for the next week.

When the Head Auror finally gave in, Harry was sent off. He decided to apparate straight to Knockturn Alley.

With a strange turn of advents, being surrounded by dark witches and wizards was probably the most comforting part of his day because nothing changed. Walking down the dark, crooked street with the current news was no different than any time before. Everyone glared just the same.

He did notice a strange smirk from a promiscuously dressed witch he’d had several encounters with in the past. The witch he knew as Eve normally scoffed and called him all sorts of things whenever he had to speak to her. Her favorite nickname for Aurors was ‘pig,’ Harry received a more customized version. “Hey, Piggy Potter, had no idea you had a thing for the bad boys. If Malfoy ever bores you, I have a few friends who will be happy to show the savior a good time. Or is the Dark Mark that riles you up?”

He ignored her like he always would have and moved onto his job.

As expected, when he arrived at Cobb & Webb's, he found the owner standing in front of the broken window of his shop pointing his wand at two boys who were likely fourth or fifth years. Harry was never the best at diplomatic situations but he tapped into his training and managed to calm the situation. Seeing that the damages could be fixed with a simple repairing charm, Harry was able to get the boys out of trouble with the owner but he would still need to talk to their parents.

“Be happy he’s not filing charges,” Harry said to the curly-headed one who was griping about the old man. “I have a feeling your parents will give you a lot less all ounce for Hogsmeade if they had to pay a fine or deal with a court case.”

That appeared to silence the pair. They climbed the steps of the passage into Diagon Alley. “See you later, Piggy Potter,” said Eve in a singsong voice as they passed her on the corner. Don’t forget about my offer.”

The curly-headed boy snapped his head back to look at Harry, nearly tripping on the final step. “You’re Harry Potter!” he exclaimed.

Harry wasn’t surprised the child who he’d never met hadn’t recognized him the dim shadows which seemed to forever loom over Knockturn Alley. However, he didn’t appreciate having his name yelled so loudly.

Many heads turned. It was a common effect whenever Harry went anywhere with high wizard traffic. It was the main reason he stopped coming to Diagon Alley or the Leaky Cauldron unless he absolutely needed to. However, usually when people looked at him it was with awe and gratitude. Now he received scornful looks. Parents with their young children quickly tugged them away. Elderly witches and wizards glared without mercy.

“Where are your parents?” Harry barked at the boys.

“Donno,” shrugged the boy. “Left them at Flourish and Blotts last… So are you really dating a Death Eater?” He elbowed his friend. “Archie is going to be heartbroken, isn’t he?” Harry’s temper was mounting slowly but surely. He really wished he had some backup right now. He had the feeling if he said anything out of line the public would skewer him. “He has a whole collection of Harry Potter chocolate frog cards. I bet he’s crying right-”

“Everett! Edgar!” Just as Harry was about to lose his control, a blond woman rushed towards them with her arms held out. By her equally curly locks, Harry assumed she was their mother. A man with straighter darker hair like the other boy was not far behind. “Where have you been?” the woman demanded. “What have we said about running off without telling us where you’re going?”

“We’re fourteen; we can go where we want!”

“Quiet, Edgar,” scolded their father. “I don’t care how old you are you-” He stopped midsentence as his eyes finally found Harry standing behind his children. Their mother instantly pulled the boys away from Harry. “What are _you_ doing with my children?”

“They were caught vandalizing a storefront in Knockturn Alley,” Harry informed, attempting to keep his voice as steady as possible. “I got the storeowner to agree to not press charges.”

He scoffed. “I’m sure you have. You’re probably good friends considering how many Death Eaters you know.”  
  


Harry ground his teeth. His voice was audibly strained as he attempted to speak with as much civility as possible, “Please just watch out for your children. Some discipline-”

“Discipline?” roared the man.

“Walter,” his wife urged softly but he didn’t listen.

He stood tall, puffing up his chest. “Don’t talk about disciplining my children. The only person who deserves discipline is that slimy snake you’ve been traipsing around with. No wonder he and his family got off. He had the golden boy in his bed.”  
  


Like Harry Potter temperament detectors, another Weasley manifested at Harry’s side to restrain him before he did something stupid.”

“Really, Mr. Hatch?” George said from Harry’s side as if he was talking to an old friend who’d made a stupid joke. “I’ve had to reset my anti-theft hexes at least three times this summer because of those two.” He gestured at Everett and Edgar. “You can’t actually be surprised they ventured into Knockturn, can you? My parents certainly weren’t when my brother and I did it.”

“You can’t actually be standing up for this fa-”

“Taking into account the amount of times I’ve seen him risk his life for…everyone. Yes, I think I am,” George said with a smile though his eyes were stern.

Walter subsided. He turned away in a flurry, tugging Mrs. Hatch and his boys with him. Harry expected George to walk away as well but instead he gave a surveying glance at the crowd the outburst had created. “If you all need some more entertainment in your lives, I’d advise you to visit Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Otherwise, please and very respectfully, get your noses out of our business. Thank you.”

He clapped a hand onto Harry’s back and started to guide him to the large orange building at the end of the road. “I should go back to the office,” Harry said quietly.

“I just saved your arse from a lawsuit. The least you can do is spend a few knuts at my store.”

Harry didn’t argue further.

As they walked, people continued to glare and murmur. Harry kept his head low. George, on the other hand, smiled and tossed two fingered salutes to the onlookers. One man mumbled a homophobic slur as they passed and George, not missing a beat, responded loudly, “And to you, good sir.”

Upon entering Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, Harry was greeted with familiar colors and bangs and pops all around. There was so much to look at that no one paid the owner or Harry Potter any mind as they made their way through. George paused at a display of Bombtastic Bombs to inform the group of kids eyeing them that they currently had a back to school sale.

He quickly caught back up with Harry and continued to lead him through the shop. He made a small motion towards Harry as they passed Angelica who was clad in purple employee robes. She offered Harry a quick, reassuring smile before her attention was pulled elsewhere. They ducked into the back room.

It appeared to be mostly extra stock, stacked so high on shelves it nearly touched the ceiling. Past the rows, pressed into the back corner were two desks. Each overflowed with parchment and blueprints for new ideas. While the contents of both desktops looked prepared to be picked back up again to resume the mad genius which undoubtedly unfolded there, Harry noticed one had a fine layer of dust coating everything. It looked to have been completely undisturbed likely for close to over three years. Harry also noticed what he might have assumed to be a decorative wall mirror but a piece of cloth was draped over it halfhazard, leaving a bottom corner of the reflective material to still peak through. Harry tried to push the reasoning out of his mind.

“The store looks to be doing well,” he said conversationally.

George nodded as he dropped into the chair of the used desk. “Angelina has been a lifesaver.” He gestured to the seat beside him, the only thing that was a part of the other setup that had been recently moved.

Harry lowered into it slowly, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise as he did. This chair wasn’t for him. George seemed to pick up on his discomfort. “She’s the one who pointed out that Fred would have clobbered me had he seen me moping like I was. We put a lot of effort into getting this place up and running, I couldn’t let all of that go to waste.”

“I’m glad you found her,” Harry said earnestly. When the shop first opened and everyone had begun to feel the war looming nearer, Weasleys’ had been the only place left with any spirit left on the whole street. It was a beacon of hope. However, afterwards, when everything began to get built back up, like a scar on the street, the lights of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had gone out. What had once everyone’s hope had become a reminder of their loss. It was brilliant to see it back. It was like they were all finally beginning to heal again.

“I hear you found someone too.” George crossed his arms and sat back into his chair, an accusatory look on his face that looked far more like Percy than Harry wished to admit.

“So you’ve read the paper,” Harry stated rather than asked.

George scoffed. He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I stopped reading that load of rubbish after the trials. They have nothing interesting to say anymore. Just petty gossip, usually about you.”

Harry sighed. “Nothing’s changed there.”

George skimmed him again. “Are you saying it’s not true? You looked pretty cozy with Malfoy.”

“I thought you said you didn’t read it.”

He shrugged. “Well, I don’t normally, but when you see your brother’s best mate snogging a bloke on the front page, it makes you curious.”

A pang of panic sent Harry’s heart pounding. He never actually told any of the Weasleys about Draco other than Ron. From the way Ron had talked, he assumed they just knew. He hadn’t even considered properly coming out to them. “Ron said you all already knew.”

George nodded heavily, pressing his mouth into a thin line. “Suspected, yeah. You two weren’t very subtle.”

Harry studied the man. He could always tell the twins apart but it had become more apparent now. George had lines that were now unique to his face alone: The hint of frown lines on his brown and ever present dark circles beneath his eyes. And while he’d always been the more rational one, Harry had never seen him as stoic as was then. “Are you upset?”

“I’ll admit I wasn’t the biggest fan,” he said gravely then let out a short, irked huff, “but Ginny scolded us all pretty thoroughly.”

Harry sat up. “She did?”

George gave him an incredulous look. “It’s Ginny. You know how self-righteous she can be, especially when she’s actually right. However,” he gestured to the overflowing rubbish bin in the corner which had Harry and Draco’s picture peeking out of the top, “I have a feeling all the stuff they said in there isn’t right.”

“What did it say?”

George raised his brows. “You haven’t read it?”

“My boss said to keep my temper in line. I figured reading it would have had the adverse effect.”

“Good plan,” George agreed, he dropped his folded arms and let out some of the tension on another breath. “Half that stuff was absolutely dung. Even Malfoy, Snape’s potion protégée, couldn’t create a love potion that doesn’t make the drinker noticeably daft. Trust me; we tried it too for our Wonder Witch line.”

“Does it really say that in there?” Harry snapped.

Harry jumped to his feet and started towards the bin but it lit on fire before he could touch it. He spun around to glare at George. “I think you’ve got the right idea about not reading that, especially considering what I saw out there.” He gestured at the door, referring to the near fight he’d had with Mr. Hatch.

Harry dropped back into the chair with a huff, petulantly crossing his arms over his chest. “He deserved it. Where does he get off talking like that?”

“He was just repeating what he read.” Suddenly Harry really did want to read that article. Before he could jump up again and search for a copy, George went on to explain. “You were seen with the children of two of Voldemort’s followers, and kissing one. People are going to make assumptions about how fair the trials were.”

“Draco didn’t get off because of me!” Harry bellowed.

“But he did,” George said calmly, completely unfazed by Harry’s outburst.

“We weren’t even together back then!”

“No, but he did get off because of you. You testified for him and, be honest, that was the only thing that kept him out of Azkaban.” George shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t look good.”

“I testified because he was innocent. I can’t be punished for doing the right thing.”

“But he can get out of punishment for doing the wrong thing?” George snapped. Harry never once felt any bitterness towards one of the twins but at this moment he really wanted to bite off George’s head. George could tell. He let out a long sigh and eased. “I’m just saying I understand why they’re upset.”

“I understand too but haven’t I done enough? Don’t I deserve just... something that’s mine, without judgment or anyone else’s opinions involved?”

“Deserve…” George said quietly. His gaze drifted to the covered mirror.

Harry wanted to be angry. He wanted to start a fight just to do something, but seeing the distance in the once lively eyes of George Weasley made him rethink that path. Maybe deserve wasn’t the right word. The Weasleys had done nothing but good. They truly didn’t deserve their loss.

George slowly brought his eyes back to Harry. “At this point I really don’t have an answer for you.”

All Harry could do was shake his head because he really didn’t know either. Robards said he was working to clean it up but what was there to clean? Everyone already knew. Without a time turner or a massive memory charm, nothing much more could be done other than to wait.

There was really only one thing he could do. “What I want to know is how those pictures were taken in the first place. They were in front of Draco’s apartment which no one knows the address to besides a handful of trusted people and a, supposedly, closed file at the ministry. There has to be a leak somewhere.”

“Are you certain the people who know are trustworthy?”

“The only people who know who weren’t in the photos are Ron, Hermione, and Draco’s mother. No one has a motive.”

George frowned. “Doesn’t Terry Skeres know?”

It felt like someone had just smacked Harry across the face. How had he not thought of that before? He was about to jump out of his chair again but he paused instead, narrowing his eyes at George. “How do you know about that?” His Auror brain was ticking into full gear and it was quick to find suspicion in everything around him.

“A few months ago I had come down here to check on the shop. While I was here I overheard his older brother talking about him being arrested for attacking Malfoy in his home.” He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “I remember because I was half tempted to ask for the address myself.” He raised his hands in defense when he saw the look on Harry’s face. “I didn’t, obviously. Actually that was also the day I quite literally bumped into Angelina because I was too busy eavesdropping.”

His suspensions satisfied, Harry got to his feet. “I could honestly kiss you right now.”

“Sorry, mate, I’m a taken man.”

Harry rolled his eyes but George likely didn’t see as he was already weaving through the shelves back towards the door. He had to get back to the ministry to talk to Robards.

“Oi, you still owe me a purchase for saving your arse!”


	22. Closing the Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t decide whether to split this into two chapters or just keep it as one big one. A lot happens. I really just wanted to tie this story up though, and I know the amount of chapters is getting foreboding for casual readers. If you like commenting about what’s going on, feel free to comment more than once. I might push some parts of this back into the last chapter later if I decide to comeback to edit it.

With no time to waist, Harry hurried back to the Ministry. Despite understanding its purpose, he silently cursed the one-way apparition wards on the Auror office which only allowed people to leave the office area but not come back in - Aurors needed to be able to get out quickly to respond to cases but allowing just anyone to pop right in was downright stupid.

He arrived at the Designated Apparition Point and quickly found himself unconcerned with the discontent looks he received from anyone he passed. He rushed up to level two.

Harry’s strides were wide as he hurried to the office, hoping he’d be able to catch Robards who was constantly coming in and out of his office throughout the day. Just as he rounded the final corner-

“You’re just hiding him, I know it! That bent prick is just a coward hiding behind all of you like he did during the war!”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Of all the people he might have guessed that would show up at his office, Lucius Malfoy was not near the top. However here he was, being pushed away from the Auror office doors by two men from Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.

The years had not treated him kindly. He looked worse than the state Harry had found his son in. Not only was he thin but his face was sunken and gaunt, his receding hairline only making it more noticeable, while the patchy beard he’d grown in his isolation did little to cover any of it. Harry couldn’t help but see a better dressed Mr. Filch.

Before Harry’s mind had caught up with the scene, Lucius caught sight of him. “You!” he bellowed.

He tore away from the patrolmen and stormed towards Harry. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” he roared, his eyes alight with fury. “You’ve always had it out for my family, haven’t you? I once called you great things before you ridiculed my son, and now you continue to do it.”

“Mr. Malfoy, you must leave this level,” urged one of the patrolmen, meanwhile his counterpart hung back to watch the show.

Harry took the interruption to attempt to pass. “I have important business to get to. If you have a complaint, file it elsewhere.”

“A complaint?” Lucius looked like he wished he could use the killing curse with the blink of his eye. “I’ll tell you my complaint.” He shrugged away from the patrolman. “Haven’t you ruined enough? Now you’re ruining my son’s reputation!”

I’m that moment, Harry lost his grip on the last thin thread of control he had. Harry spun on him. He was absolutely livid. “ _I_ ruined his reputation? I’m pretty sure that mark you put on his arm ruined his reputation. You allowing a madman into your house around your wife and son ruined his reputation. Your cowardice ruined his reputation. The only thing I have done is love your son and tried to put back the pieces you broke.”

“Love him?” Lucius reeled. His eyes had become almost bigger than his head as he stared Harry, attempting to fathom the words he’d just heard. Finally, he gave a loud scoffing noise. “I’m sure you are but this is some trick you’ve pulled on my son. You’re the one who’s given him some sort of potion. No Malfoy would ever behave in such a demeaning manor?”

“Demeaning manor?” Harry repeated. “You mean _gay_? It’s not that hard of a word to say. Your son is gay, Lucius. I should know! I’ve been living with him for almost six months. I’ve also been fu-”

“Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing here?” Robards came striding down the hall with his assistant scuttling at his side. He had arrived just before Harry managed to shove his foot too far into his mouth.

Robards strategically slipped between Lucius and his Auror. His back was to Harry as he stood off against Lucius. “What have I told you about coming here? My predecessors might have let you come and go as you pleased but my people are far too busy to move furniture for you.” There was a bitterness to Robards’ tone that made his remark sound personal. Harry wondered if he’d been one of the Aurors who’d been sent out on that call.

Lucius pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Your predecessors knew how to do politics correctly,” his voice was noticeably restrained though it hummed with the anger he wanted to show. “They knew how to treat people who have influence.”

“Well, I’m afraid your influence isn’t very favorable at the moment,” Robards said without a hint of remorse. “In fact, I think anyone involved with your family is leaving themselves open for quite a bit of criticism. That’s why I can’t imagine Auror Potter would intend to be connected to any of you. Given that I don’t believe anything illegal occurred, I urge you to take this personal matter out of my department.”

Lucius slid a glare towards Harry, as if prepared to agree to take this outside. Harry didn’t think he’d be able to walk away. Dueling Lucius Malfoy would certainly be an acceptable place to direct his anger. However, Robards spotted it as well, “Later,” he pressed. “Right now, I need to speak to Potter.” He turned to the patrolmen. “Please escort Mr. Malfoy out. Come with me, Potter.”

Harry could feel Lucius’s glare up until he started snapping at the patrolmen to not touch him. His voice became muffled when the office door swung shut behind them.

No Aurors had yet returned from the field. Only a few clerks moved through the desk. Harry was thankful for this because Robards didn’t even wait until they got to his office to turn on Harry. “I should have known this was a mistake. You should lay low for the next week until this dies down a bit.”

Harry stumbled slightly as his mouth falling open. “Are you- Are you sacking me?”

Robards crossed his arms. “Not if I can help it. I was hoping you could voluntarily take a few days of leave but I will officially suspend you if I must.”

“I haven’t done anything!” Harry exclaimed. He threw his arm at the door. “Malfoy came after me!”

“Yes, but I also heard about what happened in Diagon Alley,” he said stiffly, making Harry straighten up, “and if I can’t even send you for routine jobs then it would be better if you just go home. You’ll still have a job,” Robards assured as Harry scoffed, “but you need to lay low, for your safety and your partner’s.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to his. He frowned. He could tell Robards wasn’t talking Ron, his work partner. “What do mean by my partner’s safety?”

“You aren’t the only person that people are going to be angry at about this and, if you’re right, if there is a leak, then his whereabouts might not be as secure as we all think.”

Dread slipped down Harry’s throat, closing it up, and twisted in his lungs making it hard to breath. He suddenly regretted leaving Draco home alone even more. His head swiveled towards the door almost instinctually.

“Go,” Robards told him. “I’ll call you back when things begin to calm down or we get a lead.”

Harry didn’t have to be told twice.

* * *

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest the whole way home. To his great relief, the front door was securely locked when he arrived. He charmed it open.

As Harry had expected, he walked into a spotless flat. There wasn’t a spec of dirt around although there was clutter. All of the books from the long shelving unit behind the dining table had been pulled out and stacked onto the table, counter, and floor. Draco stood among them. His brow was in deep set concentration as he stared at the cover of two red books. At second glance, it appeared he was sorting them all by color.

“Draco-“

He leapt almost a foot into the air. His hand blurred towards his pocket before Harry saw the tip of his wand pointed at him. He threw his hands up in surrender, rushing out “It’s me! It’s me!” Draco only narrowly restrained firing a curse at him.

“Harry?” His eyes darted towards the clock. It was quarter to one. “Why are you home early? What happened?”

“I was worried about you,” Harry said, slowly lowering his hands as Draco’s wand vanished back into his pocket.

Draco shook his head, looking back at the books. “Go back to work. I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” he urged, earning Draco’s attention. “The pictures were taken out front. Whoever took them knows where you live.”

The books tumbled out of Draco’s grasp. The careful calm he’d woven over himself throughout the day and hid behind distractions suddenly crumbled. “How?”

“I don’t know yet,” Harry wouldn’t mention Skeres, not until he was certain that’s what had happened, “but I’ll figure it out.”

Draco waded through the books towards Harry. He looked like a sleepwalking man, his gaze glossed over while his brain worked a million miles away. “What if whoever took them tells someone else or someone recognize is it?”

“It doesn’t matter, we won’t be here,” Harry declared. He’d thought about this on his way up. They couldn’t stay. Harry wouldn’t be able to find who did this from the flat and he wasn’t going to leave Draco alone, no matter how well he could handle himself. “We’re going to Grimmauld.”

“Grimmauld?” Draco looked as if Harry was talking nonsense. “No, you hate it there. I can hold out. I’m used to this. I’ll put up some wards-“

“Grimmauld is almost as we’ll warded as Hogwarts,” Harry insisted. “And that was before Dumbledore and Mad-Eye put up more during the war. No one is getting in there unless we want them too. It’ll be safest.”

The petulant crease of Draco’s brow made it clear he wanted to argue but it was only for the sake of arguing at this point. Harry made good points. The building didn’t bother Draco all that much and it would give them both some peace of mind. Draco didn’t think he could go back to the days of dreading every sound he heard outside the door.

“Okay, I’ll pack.” Draco pulled out his wand and flicked it at the books. They began to put themselves away in no particular order as Draco began folding the blanket on the back of the sofa. “You can go back to work for now. We’ll move when you’re done.”

Harry followed his lead and began collecting essentials off the counter. “I’m can’t go back.”

Draco stilled. He frowned at his boyfriend, studying the tick of his jaw. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Harry insisted. His frown deepened and shook his head. “It wasn’t my fault. Robards just sent me home as a precaution.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What wasn’t your fault?” Harry was a sufficient enough liar because it was always buried in half truths. However, Draco always knew how to pick out the important words.

A long sigh left Harry’s mouth. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to avoid the topic. “I might have gotten into a few rows today.”

“Potter!”

“None of them were my fault!” He refused to look at Draco as he started on pulling things from the cupboards. “People are just close-minded assholes.” Harry paused. He wasn’t sure if he should mention what happened with Lucius. Draco talked so rarely about his father that it was difficult to gauge how he’d react. However, Harry had learned over the months and he knew whatever Draco’s reaction would be, it would be ten times worse if he found out that Harry kept it from him.

He sucked in a long breath, trying to steady his pounding heart some. “Lucius also showed up at my office.”

There was silence.

Harry slowly turned his head towards Draco. For a brief second, he caught the fear in Draco’s eyes but it disappeared the moment he realized Harry was looking at him. He put his mask back on. “Oh,” was all Draco managed. He attempted to turn back to packing but all he was doing was smoothing out the blanket.

Harry rounded the counters and met Draco in the sitting room. He took him by the shoulders and pulled him to meet Harry’s gaze. “Hey, it doesn’t matter what he thinks anymore. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. We’ve got each other. That’s all that counts.”

Draco nodded slowly but there was still no emotion on his face. It drove Harry mad. “Dray,” he pressed softly. “You’re allowed to show me that you’re upset. You don’t have to hide from me.”

They remained in silence for a long moment, their eyes locked. Harry thought Draco was going to ignore him but he watched as the mask slowly crumbled away. Draco’s eyes softened and gradually filled with remorse. His bottom lip trembled almost imperceptibly. Finally, he opened his mouth and a breath shook out. “What- What did he say?”

Harry hesitated. “I don’t if-”

“Tell me.” Draco managed to still sound demanding even though his shuttering voice.

It didn’t sound like a good idea. Or, rather, like it was a very painful one but Harry did as he asked. “That I’m ruining your reputation.”

Draco snorted a bitter laugh. “ _You_? I had no reputation to begin with.”

“That’s what I said!”

Draco shook his head slowly, his gaze falling back to the sofa. “You’re the one who’s having their reputation ruined by all of this.”

Harry’s brief feeling of vindication disappeared as he frowned at the man in his arms. “I don’t care.” Draco scoffed again but Harry quickly spoke over him. “I know you think I’m a people pleaser, and at times maybe you are right. Growing up it was easier to just do as expected but when it comes to stuff that really matters,” he gave Draco’s shoulders a little squeeze, “then I don’t care what people think. I care about what’s right and being with you,” he lifted his Draco’s chin, finally pulling his gaze to meet his eyes once more, “is right.”

Draco nodded slowly but he didn’t appear convinced.

Harry curled his finger, holding Draco’s chin a little more securely. “I promised you that I wouldn’t leave again. I’m not going anywhere but that means you can’t push me away either. If I say I don’t care, then I don’t care. Okay?”

Draco nodded again, this time faster and with more certainty. He leaned down and closed his agreement with a kiss.

A sigh followed Draco’s lips away from Harry’s mouth as they pulled apart. “Come on, let’s finish packing.”

* * *

Packing with two wands was a quick affair. It only took a few trips to get everything to Grimmauld, and it moved twice as fast when they got Kreacher to help.

Moving in was actually a welcomed distraction. They weren’t going to sleep separately on the two twin beds of the room Harry once occupied so instead they moved the master bedroom. Harry actually laughed when he saw how disturbed Draco was by the smell of barn animals in the room. He almost considered not telling Draco that it was due to Buckbeak occupying the room. Of course, this launched a whole other discussion about their third-year.

All the while, Draco made quick work of the room. The smell was soon nonexistent and every surface was spotless. He returned to the flat solely to collect all of the linen and removed the black, frilled duvet with theirs. It was around this time that Harry realized he was more of a hindrance than a help so he left Draco to it.

Seeing that they now had access to a Floo, Harry sent a message to Ron and Hermione assuring that they were okay and informing them of their move. He didn’t give the slightest clue as to where they were. While the Grimmauld Floo was incredibly secure for travel, messages could still be intercepted and Ron and Hermione would be able to figure it out just by receiving a message at all – Grimmauld was the only place he’d go.

He knew exactly when they received it because twenty minutes after six, Ron and Hermione were stumbling out of the fireplace. Hermione launched herself forward the moment she caught sight of Harry. “Oh Harry, I’m so sorry this is all happening. I can’t believe how ridiculous this all is. I knew the wizarding world was a bit old fashioned but honestly!”

“I nearly knocked Robards teeth out when he said you went home,” Ron claimed. “They can’t sack you for something like this. It’s bloody mental.”

Hermione released her tight grip on Harry’s shoulders so they could both look at Ron but kept one arm around his back as if he needed support. Harry rubbed her back as a silent thank you. “It’s okay, I went home voluntarily. I didn’t want to go in at all today but Draco didn’t want it to seem like it affected us.”

Hermione’s head swiveled around the room. “Where is he?” She looked to Harry with sudden alarm. “He is here, right? You two didn’t break up over this?” She appeared genuinely concerned and it warmed Harry’s heart.

“No, no. He’s upstairs trying to clean up the bedroom. He didn’t approve of it still smelling like Buckbeak.”

“How is he?” Ron asked, once again surprising Harry with how sincere his friends sounded. “I heard about Lucius showing up. Did you tell him?”

Harry nodded gravely. “I did. He thought what Lucius was saying was just as ridiculous as I do.” He shrugged out of Hermione’s hold to sit down at the table. “None of this would be half as bad if he hadn’t pulled his son into the war.”

They both joined him. Ron leaned forward on his elbows, his brown knotted in concentration. His Auror brain was already searching for answers. “Do you have any idea who took the pictures or how they found out?”

Harry nodded, making the pair sit up. “Two were taken near the apartment which means whoever it was knows where we live. I trust everyone who knows except for one person: Terry Skeres.”

Ron sat back. His lips pressed into a thin line. He tried to work this information through his mind. He’d defended Terry so much when the incident happened because he had understood what it felt like to lose a brother and also because he was biased against Draco. Now, he couldn’t ignore facts, and, whether he would admit out loud or not, he was beginning to believe in Draco. “I’ll pull his files. He should still be under monitoring and receiving counseling.”

“Do it tomorrow,” Harry said, “and be discreet. Robards won’t approve of me searching on my own. I’m already on ‘voluntary leave’ so that I’ll stay out of trouble. I don’t want to give him a reason to suspend you because you’re helping me.”

Ron gave a nod of concurrence.

“Granger? Weasley?” They all looked up to see Draco descending the last few steps into the kitchen. “I heard voices, I thought…”

Hermione straightened and for a moment it looked like she was going to jump up and give him Draco a hug as well. She shifted in her seat, debating if it was called for or not. As Draco eased into the room, she decided to stay seated but the concern remained on her features. “We came to check on both of you,” she said. “How are you, Draco?”

Draco was a bit stilted by hearing his given name from Hermione Granger as well as the worry on her face. He stepped slowly towards the table, hesitating behind the chair beside Harry. “I’m okay. I haven’t had to deal with it as much as…” He trailed off, his gaze falling to Harry.

Harry took one of his hands from the back of the chair, smoothing a circle into the back of his palm. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah, we’ve all dealt with worse,” Ron spoke up. “Hell, you were there half the time when we did – granted you usually caused the trouble,” he added but the glint in his eye made it clear he was teasing.

Draco scoffed, finally sitting down into the chair. “Please, you all could find trouble easily enough with me involved. I certainly didn’t cause you to drive that car into the Whomping Willow.”

“That’s true, but your elf did,” Harry pointed out.

“It did?”

Harry nodded with a chuckle on his lips. “Dobby closed the entrance to the train stop which is why we had to take the car. So, in a roundabout way, you were involved in that too.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Still not my fault.”

Ron was smiling fondly at the memory as he went on. “I’m only saying that we’ve always gotten ourselves out of things before – even _Fiendfyre_. We’ll get you out of this too.”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose, when it comes right down to it, it always has been the four of us in one way or another.” She gave Draco a feathery smile. “No one should be all that surprise that it ended the same way.”

Draco shifted, a shy smile playing on his own lips. Harry grinned at his friends. They really were the absolute best.

Ron and Hermione remained for dinner and the elephant in the room was ignored. Harry would get to the bottom of this but he wasn’t about to sacrifice all of his peace to it. After all, that’s what whoever had done this intended.

* * *

“I don’t know, Mate, he looks clean to me,” Ron sighed. He, Harry, and Hermione were in the drawing room of Grimmauld going over Terry Skeres’ file. Draco was upstairs, still working on cleaning up the house.

It had been a long day. Draco continued to sort things out. His knowledge of the Dark Arts came in handy as he worked his way out to the rest of the house. The work was a good distraction but every once in a while Harry would catch him pause and stare at something for too long, so Harry started coming up with his own distraction. Affection always kept Draco’s mind busy and it did wonders to keep Harry calm as well.

Harry had been bouncing out of his skin during most of the day. He wanted to do something. He wanted to go after someone. They were safe though and the wounds were still too fresh, if he went seeking Skeres then he’d do something stupid. He knew he had to wait until Ron came by.

However, now that he was there, it seemed pointless to have had his hopes up all day, because Ron was right, there was little that pointed to any guilt in the file. No alerts had been reported from the tracker on his wand and he was almost never missed a counseling session. The only red flag was that his six month probation had officially ended a few weeks ago which could explain why he waited until now to do anything.

Harry threw the file on the table. “Just because this doesn’t say anything doesn’t mean he doesn’t know anything.” He jumped to his feet. “He wasn’t under observation when the pictures were taken. Who knows what he did in that time?”

“Yes but his counselor makes it sound like he was doing much better at the end,” Hermione urged. “Why would he snap back all of a sudden?”

“He was faking!” Harry threw his hands up in the air. “He just wanted them to approve his release, or he told someone before he was released and they’re the ones who did this. I don’t know but I know he does. He’s the only one.”

He yanked the paper from the file which had Skeres address. “If Draco comes down, cover for me. This won’t take long.”

Ron got to his feet. “Fine but I’m coming with you.”

“And when this gets back to the office, you’ll be out of a job with me,” Harry snapped.

Ron’s jaw was set as he eyed Harry. “Then I’ll find another job.” He stepped around the sofa towards Harry, lowering his voice to keep Draco from hearing. “Haven’t you figured out after all this time that we do this together, even if it’s defending Draco?”

The rumbling heat in Harry’s chest momentarily cooled to a comforting warmth as he looked at his friend. He really shouldn’t have expected anything less.

He glanced at Hermione. She waved her hand away. “Go, I’ll take care of Draco. Just, please, don’t do anything too stupid.”

“No promises, ‘Mione,” Ron teased. She sighed in exasperation. He bent down to press a kiss to her cheek and grabbed his cloak from beside her. “Let’s go.”

Harry looked down at the address once more. Norfolk. They would need a jumping point in between. He took Ron’s arm and they apparated out of the house.

After a brief pause on the edge of Essex, they manifested outside of a brick house on the edge of Attleborough. At first glance, it looked forgotten. Most muggles who passed likely assumed it held no occupants. However, as Ron and Harry walked further down the short path from the main road, some of the glamour began to fall away. The structure appeared more secure. Twisted vines climbing up the wall were well tended and not the overgrown spider webs they looked like before. Whoever was keeping them had apparently been working recently because there was a wheelbarrow with new blossoms sitting in the yard, waiting to be earthed.

Harry noticed the only thing in the yard that had truly been forgotten was rusted pail underneath frayed rope swing. Weeds attempted to reclaim the area, burying most of the pail and attempting to reach up to the low hanging swing, likely fit for a child. He tore his eyes away. Sympathy wouldn’t help his cause now.

As they climbed the shallow steps, the crooked door straightened and the grungy blue panels blossomed into eggshell. Harry pounded on the door.

A mildly disheveled woman pulled open the door. She must have been the one tending the garden because there was a speck of dirt on her brow, her blond waves pulled back into a halfhazard knot on her head. Harry couldn’t help but compare her to a younger Mrs. Weasley.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted. Her polite smile faltered when she spotted Ron’s carmine robes. He had come over so quickly after work that he had yet to take off his Auror uniform. “How can I…” She fell quiet, her eyes returning to Harry and finding the scar on his forehead. “You’re Harry Potter.”

Harry nodded slowly. He surveyed her features. It was a coin toss of whether she’d ask for his autograph or slam the door in his face. He couldn’t imagine any witch or wizard in the British Isles hadn’t heard the news of Harry Potter’s sexuality or who he was snogging. Then again they appeared to be fairly remote out here. Maybe there was a chance.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re here, Mr. Potter,” she said, pulling the door closer so they couldn’t see inside her house. “My family doesn’t have the best history with your…partner.”

Of course they knew.

“That’s why I’m here,” Harry stated. There was no point of acting otherwise. “Is Terry here?”

“Now I don’t know quite what you’re getting at,” she bristled, “but my Terry has made up for his mistakes in the past. He has nothing to do with any of this nonsense. Now please, leave.”

She tried to close the door but Harry put his arm out, pushing it open. “Go away!” she barked. “Haven’t we been through enough?”

“Mum? What’s going on?” Mrs. Skeres stopped pushing on the door. They all looked back to find Terry inching down the stairs behind her. The furrow in his brow smoothed when he spotted who was at the door. Harry tensed, expecting him to bolt, but instead he continued down the steps. “It’s okay, Mum. I was expecting this.”

“You were?” Harry, Ron, and Mrs. Skeres exclaimed.

“What’s going on?” the woman demanded.

He stepped up behind her and took the door from her hand. “It’s okay. We just need to talk. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She didn’t look convinced. Her eyes darted to Harry and then Ron before she finally subsided. “Fine, but I’m calling Trenton.”

“You don’t need to,” he assured before she could go off. “I’ll be fine. Go make yourself some tea, relax.”

The woman still appeared unconvinced. Terry sighed and stepped out of the house, pulling the door closed behind him. “Sorry about that,” he muttered to Harry and Ron. “She’s a bit protective after everything.”

“Why were you expecting us?” Harry demanded. He wasn’t in the mood for formalities. Terry didn’t appear nervous at all to see them. It was certainly not what one would expect from someone who knew they’d be accused leaking personal information.

“I saw the paper of course,” said Terry. He hopped down from the steps, moving away from the house so his mother couldn’t hear. “I didn’t do it by the way.”

Harry and Ron followed him onto level ground. “And why should we believe you?” Ron demanded.

Terry shrugged. “I don’t have any proof other than the fact that I was just as surprised by those pictures as I imagine everyone else was.” He eyed Harry up and down. “I never would have pegged you for _that_ type.”

Harry lurched forward and Ron quickly put his arm up, stopping him. Terry raised his hands in defense. “I don’t mean anything by it; I was just surprised is all.”

Harry didn’t relax. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the man. Terry went on, “Look, I wasn’t in the best state of mind six months ago. My father had just passed away and it brought back a bunch of old memories. It doesn’t excuse what I did but I’ve been working on it. That counseling actually helped. I’m still going actually, even though it’s not mandatory anymore.”

“Okay, so you’re just magically cured now?” Harry spat. “Magic can do a lot but not that, I know that for certain.”

Terry shook his head slowly. “Not cured. I’m still working on it. I’ll probably always be working on it, which is why I’m happy you’re here. Forgiveness helps with healing.” He crossed his arms in a self-hug. “I know Malfoy had nothing to do with Caleb’s death and I’ve wanted to apologize somehow but I couldn’t think of the right thing to say. I think telling you who took the pictures, or at least who told them where to go, could suffice.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He dropped his threatening demeanor, even taking a step back to offer silent assurance that he wouldn’t try to attack again.

“Haven’t you ever thought about the fact that someone else had to tell me where Malfoy lived?”

Harry lifted his chin. “I considered it. No one would look into it though and from what I could find, no one in Public Records brought up any red flags. None of them had any direct connection to the Malfoys or deaths in the family during the war.”

Terry shook his head. “He doesn’t work in Public Records. He’s a caretaker at the ministry, likely the only job he could get after the war I presume. He heard me when I was down there doing the final paperwork for my father. I was with my older brother, Trenton, and we were talking Malfoy and,” he scuffed toe at the loose dirt, kicking aside a pebble, “a bunch of other stuff that was honestly out of line. He approached me, told me he knew where I could find Malfoy.”

He huffed, looking back at Harry and Ron. “My brother didn’t like it, I should have listened. He told him off but I went back a few days later and got the information. You know the rest.”

“Who?” Harry demanded.

Terry took a deep breath. “Gregory Goyle.”

This time it was Ron who lunged forward. “You’re lying. They were friends in school. Why would he do that to Malfoy?”

Terry put his hands up again. “I’m just telling you what I know. It was him, I know it was. I’m not sure what happened between them but he’s not a Malfoy fan anymore. That I’m certain of.”

Ron turned back to Harry, looking if he believed this story at all.

Harry considered it. It sounded absurd at first thought but Malfoy had never mentioned Crabbe or Goyle in all of the time they’ve been together. He got the feeling they weren’t as close of friends as they used to make themselves out to be.

_“The rest left me or died, and the ones who died probably would have left too. No one wants to be friends with a Malfoy who’s fallen from grace.”_

“Do you know where we can find him?” Harry questioned. Ron’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

Terry shrugged. “I don’t know where he lives but I’m pretty sure he’s still at the ministry right now if he’s working today. He had me meet him there after his shift ended at eight.”

“It’s five till eight now,” Ron urged, looking up from his watch.

“We have to go now,” Harry said, feeling panic spike in his chest. “We still have to jump off of Essex to even make it to London.”

“You can use our Floo,” Terry offered. He started towards the house, Harry and Ron were right on his heel. “You’ll end up in visitors but it’ll still be quicker.”

They burst into the house. Mrs. Skeres nearly dropped her cup of tea when they came rushing into the sitting room. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

Terry ignored her, grabbing the bowl of Floo powder off the mantel to offer to them. “Here.”

Harry and Ron each took a pinch. Harry started towards the fireplace but Terry grabbed his arm. “Hey, can you tell Malfoy-”

“I will,” Harry assured. “Thank you.” And Harry meant it. He saw no reason to hold a grudge. After everything he’d been through he knew that mistakes didn’t make a person, it’s how they fixed them that did.

“Now go get that bastard.”

Harry didn’t have to be told twice. He tossed the powder into the dying embers of the fireplace and might green flames burst forth. He leapt into them into them without hesitation. “The Ministry of Magic!”

* * *

“Where are you going? We need to tell Robards,” Ron urged. Thanks to Ron still being in his Auror robes, they were able to break out of the visitor center quickly. They rushed through the atrium together but Harry hesitated when he spotted the caretaker office.

“Go get him, I’ll head off Goyle,” Harry said, already starting towards the marked door.

“What? No! You aren’t going in there alone.”

“I won’t do anything, I promise. I’ll just keep him from leaving.” Ron didn’t look convinced. “Get Robards!” Harry’s shout earned several scandalous looks from passerby but he didn’t care, he only cared that it finally kicked Ron into action. He gritted his teeth but took off towards the lifts nonetheless.

The moment it looked like Ron wouldn’t turn back, Harry started towards the usually forgotten office. It was late. There was little in way of a crowd. Still, Harry being being who he was earned earned several perturbed looks. He didn’t mind them. His focus was on the place on the office door which read CARETAKERS.

He pushed it open without indication. It wasn’t an unusual act. People came in and out all the time to call for a cleanup somewhere in the ministry. Even Harry had once called on them to clean up the holding cells after a drunken Wizard had spewed everywhere. He hadn’t remembered seeing Goyle then. He didn’t recall seeing Goyle anywhere. Harry moved so quickly in and out of the office, in a hurry to solve the next big case that he rarely accounted for those around him.

The ‘office’ wasn’t really an office. It had desks but they were hardly used. It was primarily a large cleaning supply room. Shelves lined the walls with various solvents that cleaned all types of magical and non-magical messes. Mops and non-flying brooms were hung up as well. Harry moved aside the cart in front of the door which was boggled down by several vibrantly colored bottles and a few other cleaning tools Harry didn’t recognize.

“Oh hello,” an aged wizard looked up from one of the desks, his hand lingering over the badge on his chest. “How can we help you, sir? I’m just clocking in for the night. I can be there in a moment.”

Harry surveyed the room for any other occupants but found none. “I was looking for someone, Greggory Goyle?”

“Ah,” he glanced at the clock over the door, “he should be down soon to trade off with me.” He gestured to the old settee shoved against the wall. “You’re welcome to wait, Mr. Potter.”

Harry hesitated. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

The man scoffed. “Please boy! Who couldn’t recognize Harry Potter? I assume it helps that I used to see you fairly often when I had the morning shift.”

Harry looked at him bizarrely. While his features appeared familiar, he couldn’t place the man anywhere in particular. “We’ve never met.”

“No but in this job you get to know everyone even if they don’t know you.”

Harry frowned. There had still been a part of Terry’s story that didn’t add up: How did Goyle have Draco’s information at all? If Draco didn’t consider them to be friends then he wouldn’t have given him his private address. “You wouldn’t happen to have access to personal files, would you?”

“Access? Sure but I’d never look at them,” he added staunchly. “They let us into a whole heap of places others aren’t allowed. I don’t need to go snooping in files to know things.”

“But if you wanted to, you could, even from Public Records?” Harry questioned.

The man frowned, apparently offended. He answered nonetheless. “Well, yes, in theory. No one really pays attention to us, like house-elves really. Some of this stuff is too complex for those little guys though.” He gestured to the shelves of cleaning supplies.

Harry felt this was the best answer he’d get and it worked well enough. Harry stepped forward, eyeing the name on the man’s tag. “Lenny, would you mind telling that to a court if it’s needed.”

“What? Why-”

The door banged open. Harry and Lenny spun towards the sound. A bulky man in the same gray dungarees as Lenny rushed into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. A string of curses rushed out of his mouth on a whisper. “Lenny, I have to go-”

The moment he turned around he froze. His eyes were the size of bludgers, just like the ones Harry remembered this very man batting his way at full force. It was certainly Greggory Goyle. His height had leveled out just below Harry’s but he remained far too muscular to be a comfortable match.

The years must have begun to give him some amount of wit because he instantly tried to throw the door open again. Harry was faster. He pulled out his wand and sealed the door with a wordless spell. It snapped shut with a loud bang. Lenny yelped and jumped away from Harry.

Goyle spun around again. The flash of horror in his eyes turned into a sneer. “I haven’t done anything, Potter,” he roared. “I don’t know why you sent Weasel to go hunting for me but I haven’t done anything.”

Harry kept his wand up as he inched closer. “Really? Terry Skeres tells me differently.”

Another flash of fear darted across Goyle’s face. He tried to subdue it but masking ones feelings was apparently not a Slytherin trait. “I didn’t take those pictures,” he grunted, frowning at the ground to avoid Harry’s eyes. “That was someone from the Prophet.”

Harry’s knuckles were turning white around his wand. “I have a feeling you know how they found out where to find us.” Goyle didn’t answer. He just continued to glare at the ground, keeping his back pressed against the door. “Why would you do that to Draco?” Harry demanded. “You two were friends.”

“Friends?” Goyle snapped his head back to Harry. His eyes were full of fury. “We weren’t friends. He saw us as idiots he just kept around for his amusement. Vincent was my friend. And he’s dead because we listened to Malfoy.”

“Draco didn’t kill Crabbe,” Harry snapped. “He killed himself with that _Fiendfyre_ stunt! We all nearly died, you included.”

“If he would have just let us finish you off, no one would be dead. I used to think it was because was a coward but now I know it’s because he had a crush on you. It’s pathetic.”

“Pathetic is holding onto a petty grudge this long.”

“Petty?” Goyle roared. “My best friend is dead. My father was sent to Azkaban. All the while the Malfoys walk free. It’s not petty!

“I’ve wanted revenge for what they did for years but Malfoy Manor is impossible to get into if you aren’t invited. Then I got this job and months later,” a wicked smile twisted his lips, “I found his address. Before I even thought about doing anything with it, I heard Skeres talking about him. He was so angry.” He let out a breathy laugh and Harry barely managed to not curse him right there. “I knew he’d get my revenge for me.”

His smile faltered as his gaze fell to the cart which was still near the door. “Then I heard he got caught. I decided to do it myself. I went there the next night,” his eyes slid towards Harry, “only to find you walking into the building. I kept going back but you were there _every night_. I went back once a week but you eventually just stopped leaving. I didn’t understand. Then a few weeks ago,” his lips curled again, as his eyes raked up and down Harry’s body, “I finally saw what was going on - you should really close your window.”

Harry lurched forward. Goyle smacked the back of his head against the door, trying to push farther away. Harry only barely restrained himself. “You peeping piece of shit.”

Goyle chuckled bitterly. “I get the best rewards that way.” Harry tilted his head in question, his brow knitting together. “Don’t make a lot being a caretaker,” Goyle spat. “But some people at the Dailey Prophet will pay a lot for what I know. You should have seen what I got for your story.”

Pieces began to fall together in Harry’s mind. Draco’s address wasn’t the first leak he’d heard of and it certainly wasn’t the last. The one that came to mind the most was, “The Macnair case! You’re the one who was telling them details about the case! Do you know how much panic that caused?”

Goyle didn’t appear the least bit concerned by the effect of his words. “Everyone thinks I’m stupid,” he grunted. “They don’t pay attention to me. They never have. Not even in the Auror office. They talk about cases right in front of me like I can’t hear them. Who’s stupid now?”

Harry was on the verge of losing control when the giggling doorknob cut off his thoughts. When whoever was outside found it sealed, they began to pound on the door. “Mr. Goyle, are you in there? We need to speak to you,” Robards’ voice boomed.

Harry’s attention got caught on the door. He didn’t notice Goyle’s hand slip into his pocket. Harry moved to uncharm the door just as Goyle pulled out his wand. A combination of Seeker reflexes and Auror training saved Harry. He managed to change the intent of his spell at the last second. A shield charm fell in front of him just before the red light could reach him.

Harry was ready to retaliate the instant the light faded. Goyle dove behind the cart. Harry jumped away from another shot. He grabbed Lenny and pushed him behind his desk, crouching down beside him. Harry and Goyle exchanged several shots before Lenny began to shout, “Careful! Careful!” As he said this, one of Goyle’s curses hit a shelf of solvents, spilling them all over the place. “If some of those mix, we’ll all be dead.”

Harry took his warning seriously. There were several muggle cleaning supplies that ended in disaster if they were mixed, he couldn’t imagine what magical ones would do. He stopped trying to fire at Goyle and instead began throwing up shields to protect the supplies.

He wouldn’t have been able to sustain this for long but the Aurors made quick work of the stuck door.

Harry stopped firing and in an instant Goyle was disarmed. Harry and Lenny slowly got back to their feet. Ron and another Auror were pulling a bound Goyle up. Robards stood over them, watching the process. He whirled around when he spotted Harry out of the corner of his eye. “I thought I told you to go home! Honestly, Potter, do you have any idea how to take care of your own wellbeing?”

“I couldn’t just sit around and wait for someone else to do it!” Harry exclaimed.

“You know there are other competent Aurors, right? Including myself, might I add.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was just about to go visit Skeres after hours.”

Harry threw his hands in to the air. “Well, I saved you a trip.”

Robards rolled his eyes, a long sigh gushing out of his mouth. He looked back to Goyle and his restrainers. “Take him to holding. I’ll speak to him later.”

Ron and his companion nodded and they shoved Goyle out the door. Robards followed them out, Harry right on his heels. “You know,” Robards said as they walked through the Atrium, “I could fire you for this. Do you know how many regulations you broke by going after someone like this? You’re supposed to be on leave, if something happened-”

“Nothing happened other than us finding who’s been leaking all of our information the media.” Harry patted his boss’s back with a mocking smirk. “I’ll even let you take some of the credit.”

Robards rolled his eyes with even more exaggeration than before. “Oh how kind of you,” his voice dripped in sarcasm. “At least we got him. I have a feeling this wasn’t the only sensitive information he passed along. Hope he likes joining his father in Azkaban.”

“Hey!” Ron yelped. Goyle began to thrash in his restraints.

He pulled loose from the other Auror to look back at Harry. “It’ll be worth it!” Goyle shouted back at them. “Just to know that Malfoy is even more hated than he was before. I’m sure someone will try to kill him by the end of the year. If I’d known what he was in school, I would’ve done it myself.”

Everyone held their breath. Only Ron and the other Auror moved, rushing to pull Goyle back into submission.

The brief moment of satisfied calm broke off of Harry like the crack of a whip. Rage filled him to the brim and felt like it would overflow soon. His hand slipped back into his pocket and he could almost feel a spark when his skin touched the holly wood. He knew he could have performed an unforgivable curse in that moment with ease, possibly even with incantation.

However, that would put him in a cell in Azkaban right next to Goyle. He would be forced to leave Draco all alone. No amount of pride, no amount of anger, would ever be worth that. He promised he wouldn’t leave.

He removed his hand from his wand. His jaw ached from the grinding pressure he forced it to endure. His hot breath burned his nostrils as he attempted to take deep breaths.

“Wow, Potter,” Robards mused as Goyle was dragged away. “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed you have that much control.”

Harry slowly unlocked his jaw, allowing a slow exhale of breath. “Let’s go,” Harry huffed, ignoring Robards comment. “I want to go home.”

* * *

Harry gave two sharp knocks to the door of the Head Auror office. His body was buzzing. He had thought about this all night after he got home just a little before midnight.

He’d walked in on quite the sight. Draco and Hermione were huddled under blankets with clutching cups of tea in front of the drawing room fireplace. They were closer than Harry had ever seen them – other than the time Hermione slapped him across the face. They almost looked like friends now. The moment Draco had seen Harry, he’d launched towards him to envelop him in a hug which was preceded almost instantly by a slap across the chest.

Draco had been taken back by the news about Goyle. Harry was annoyed but not surprised when Draco didn’t get angry about it, likely assuming he deserved it. If only every knew what kind of prison Draco put himself in. It was far worse than the fait that awaited Goyle.

That was part of the reason Harry made this decision. It was time for Harry to stop running, and it was time for Draco to stop hiding. They needed to face their issues and they would do it together.

“Come in.”

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. The regular silencing charms shuttered back into place when he closed the door behind him.

“Ah, Potter,” Robards perked up, “I just got the dates for Goyle’s trial.” He pushed away the papers he’d been signing and sat back. “I’d like you on the witness stand of course but it looks like Goyle gave a lot more information than just about you and the Macnair case, even to some dark wizards.”

“Just give me the dates and I’ll be there,” Harry assured. He stepped up to the desk and dropped a single piece of paper in front of his boss. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about though.”

“What is this?” He picked up the paper, giving it a brief examination. His mouth fell open.

Before he could start to question it, Harry answered, “My resignation.”

Robards sat up straight. “I wasn’t serious earlier, Potter. I don’t intend to fire you for this. You did good work. You even managed not to throttle Goyle which, for once, might have been earned.”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s about something else you said. You’re right; it’s time for me to take care of my own wellbeing. I can’t do that here. I’ve been chasing down bad guys my whole life but I think it’s time to finally let someone else do it. I can’t duel myself out of everything.”

Robards let out a breathy laugh. He looked back down at the paper. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I was sort of hoping you’d be able to take over for me when I finally got tired of this gig. The only thing that made me hesitate was your temper.” He flicked the paper away. “And now that you’re getting it under control, you’re leaving. That’s just rich.”

“Well, like you said,” Harry showed him a crooked, teasing smile, “you have a lot of other Aurors who know how to do the job. I just won’t be one of them anymore.” Harry held out his hand. “Goodbye, Sir.”

Robards took his grasp and gave it a firm shake. “Goodbye, Potter, and good luck.”

“You too.”

They let go and Harry stepped away from the desk. He gave one last nod to the man who taught him far more than he expected in the last three years. With a fleeting smile, he started towards the door.

“Oh, and Potter?” Harry looked back over his shoulder, halfway out already. “I expected an invite to the wedding.”

Harry became red. A flustered laugh left his mouth. “Yes, sir.” With that, he walked out and closed the door behind him, shutting the latest chapter of his life.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Draco questioned. Harry looked up from the clothes he was folding into the luggage. Draco stood in the doorway, frowning at him. “We just got here. We can give it a few days before we move back to the flat.” He glanced down that hall. “I’m actually having quite a bit of fun cleaning this place up.”

Harry returned to folding another one of his shirts. “I thought we could do that proper traveling thing you were talking about.”

“What?” Draco stepped fully into the room. “Why now?”

A smile played on Harry’s face as he continued to keep his head down. “Well, I thought it would be a good time considering I just got indefinite time off.”

“What?” Draco exclaimed. He shot towards Harry, pulling him around to face Draco. “You were fired? Why? Are they really that close-minded that they fired you over us? Why are you laughing?”

Harry couldn’t help it. He honestly couldn’t stop smiling since he’d left Robards office. He had never felt so light in his life. For once there was no war. He wasn’t chasing anyone and no one was chasing him. Life and death weren’t constantly sitting in the forefront of his mind. He was free.

“I wasn’t fired. I quit.”

The twisted anger on Draco’s features slowly fell into unadulterated shock. His eyes wide and his mouth hung nearly to the floor. “You qu-quit?”

Another chuckle found its way out of Harry as he stared at this expression. He nodded. “Yeah,” he brushed a finger over Draco’s cheek, relishing in how soft his skin was, “I know how much my job worried you.”

Draco swallowed. “You quit for me?”

“I quit for both of us.” He trailed his touch up Draco’s cheekbone, following the sharp line to a small tuff of blond hair which he tucked behind his ear. “I want to be able to touch you like this in public, to hold your hand going down the street. I want to go somewhere no one knows us, just you and me.”

A breathless sort of sigh left Draco’s lips. “You want me to run away with you?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip in an attempt to keep from grinning to broadly. “That was sort of the idea.”

Draco shook his head side to side. “You know, you’re getting to be far more romantic than I ever would have imagined Harry Potter to be. I thought you were a fumbling fool.”

Harry dropped his hand which still lingered in Draco’s hair. He snaked both arms around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. “I guess something about you just makes me _slick_.”

Draco’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Oh Merlin, that was horrid!”

Harry nodded in defeat. “Yeah, it wasn’t my best.” His grip tightened, his hands dipping lower until Draco jumped. “So what do you say? Will you run away with me?”

Draco rolled his eyes but not even he could keep himself from blushing, especially when it covered most of his face. “Yes, Harry, I’ll run away with you.”

He looked like he was about to keep talking but Harry couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He caught Draco’s lips with his own; and, like tasting the fruit of one’s labor, it was the sweetest kiss he’d ever tasted.

They pulled back breathless. Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm including an epilogue so this isn't completely finished. However, I would like to thank everyone who has read thus far. Your comments and Kudos are extremely appreciated!


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished writing this and I am in actual tears. I've never written a story that I've loved so much. I hope you all have enjoyed it.

The morning sun broke through the thin cloud cover and diaphanous curtains into the kitchen. A light drizzle of rain pattered the broad windows, setting a lazy mood for the day. Draco stood at the counter, avidly at work on a batch of fried eggs and toast. Everyone loved his cooking nowadays, and this was their favorite dish – of course it was the only dish he could make but nonetheless.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist. There was a soft, gravely hum in his ear. “That looks amazing.”

Draco pushed his spatula around the pan, careful not to break the yoke. “It will be ready in a moment.”

Lips against his neck sent a shiver down his spine. “I wasn’t talking about breakfast.”

Draco stopped attempting to keep his face composed around Harry a while ago. He blushed madly as the corner of his mouth began to quirk up. “You are insatiable.”

He could feel Harry’s lips curve into a smile against his skin. Draco made a great attempt to ignore it. He focused on the hot pan in front of him, trying desperately not to burn the contents or himself. All the while, Harry moved up and down the expanse of his throat, nipping at his ear and following the curve between his neck and shoulder. He began to press himself more firmly against Draco’s back…

The eggs, mildly undercooked, were pulled off the hot burner before Draco twisted in Harry’s arms. Harry was grinning in triumph. His smugness prickled hot against Draco’s skin. He found his revenge by smashing his lips to Harry’s. Draco hooked his fingers onto his waistband and yanked Harry’s hips closer, eliciting a soft moan from the other man. Draco smiled now.

Harry’s pushed harder against him. His firm chest gave Draco little room to move. He was close to leaning back onto the hot stove. The heat against his back only made the moment more intense. However, it did not remind him where he was.

A slur of French exclamations yanked the two men’s faces apart. To Draco’s dismay, Harry kept him trapped up against the stove. “Over three months up and down Italy and the French Rivera together and you’re still humping on ever available surface like rabbits,” the woman ridiculed, now in English. “Honestly, I’m surprised we didn’t get a call about public indecency!”

“Please, it’s not like we’re exhibitionists,” Harry claimed without a hint of remorse, making Draco’s face flame up even more.

The woman surveyed their position shamelessly. “Really? I never would have guessed.” She gestured to the cooling skillet. “Finish making breakfast, and disinfect the counters when you’re done.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the dining room again.

“Lorena!” both men exclaimed after her. Draco sounded scandalized. Harry was purely amused.

When they first arrived in France, they spent the first few days at Lorena’s townhouse in Versailles to visit Narcissa. Harry didn't know what to think of Lorena at first. She seemed just as cold and severe as Narcissa. They even seemed to have similar thin features which made Harry think they were related in some way. Their differences started with Lorena’s dark, pixie haircut and ended at Lorena’s acidic wit and unfaltering innuendos. It was like meeting an older Pansy Parkinson.

Draco gave a smack to Harry’s chest. “You’re helping me get breakfast ready now.”

A smirk rolled onto Harry’s lips again. He started to lean forward. “She said to disinfect the counters after; shouldn’t we make them dirty first?”

“Harry James Potter!” Harry was satisfied by the second layer of redness which spread across Draco’s face. Making Draco flustered never got old.

Laughter shook through Harry’s whole body as he finally stepped away. Draco glared but he couldn’t say he was genuinely upset. Harry knew that. Lorena hadn’t been wrong in her statement earlier. Harry and Draco had spent all of autumn following the Mediterranean coast, each day getting to know one another’s likes and dislikes just a little better. It wasn’t just their physical interests that they discovered though.

On paper, the last three months were a dizzying dream. They were full of hotel room sheets, ancient buildings, and cities overfilling with life. In reality, they were probably the hardest and most rewarding months of either of their lives. Not only did they burry themselves into cultures – muggle and magical alike – but they ventured into deeper places as well.

Neither Draco nor Harry had been magically cured of their previous problems by being together. Walking into crowded streets still made Draco uncomfortable. Harry still looked over his shoulder and saw threats were there were none. They weren’t fixed but they were healing. Because Draco was uncomfortable but not crippled in fear; and Harry’s mind showed him threats but he didn’t believe them.

They had done exactly as Harry had hoped. They’d stopped hiding and stopped running and faced their demons. What made it easier was that they faced them together. Long nights in hotel rooms weren’t uncommon but just as often as they were spent in heated passion; they were also spent in trembling tears. It was because of this that they’d begun to enjoy the sweeter moments such as this even more. It was the reason Draco had forgotten they were in a kitchen and why Harry didn’t blush when they were caught. They were no longer guilty about their happiness.

When breakfast was ready, the boys carried the plates into the dining room. Harry placed one in front Lorena. Just as he turned to place the other plate in front of the empty chair beside her, Narcissa’s voice entered the room. “Good morning, Dears.” She paused to kiss her son’s cheek and then met Harry at her regular place. She kissed his cheek as well then sat down as he put her food down.

“Good morning, Cissy,” Harry greeted.

He started to leave her side but she took his wrist and pulled him down again. “Did Draco make this?” she asked through a smile, barely above a whisper.

“Only the eggs,” he assured.

Her face relaxed. “Everything looks lovely.” She picked up the croissant on the edge of her plate.

Harry managed to bite down a laugh for Draco’s sake. He was still so proud of himself for learning how to make eggs. He made them almost daily since they got back to the townhouse. They had all silently agreed to indulge him in this rather than risk him attempting to venture into new recipes again.

Harry took the last empty spot at the square table and joined everyone in eating.

“So, where are you both off to now?” Narcissa inquired. “I would think Spain would have nice whether this time of the year.” She had stopped pestering them about staying with her longer. She was coming to terms with their transient lifestyle, satisfied enough by monthly visits. Ultimately, she just pleased with seeing her son smile so much.

“Actually,” Draco’s eyes flicked over to Harry who swallowed down a piece of fruit, “we’ve decided to go back to England for the holidays.”

Both of the women straightened. Lorena looked at Narcissa uncertainty. Narcissa’s gaze was locked on her son, her expression unchanging. There was a pregnant pause. Finally, Narcissa dabbed her face with her napkin before sitting up rigidly. “Are you certain that is a good idea?” She carefully smoothed out the napkin on her lap. “It hasn’t been very long since your relationship became public.” She glanced between the two men. “The wizarding world is a stagnant, stubborn thing. I don’t know if everyone has come to terms with it yet.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Draco reached across the table to take Harry’s hand, “we have.” A steady smile spread across Harry’s face and it mirrored onto Draco’s.

Narcissa sighed. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t been hoping this was a phase. She thought she’d come to terms with it and she had. However, there was still some bitterness in her heart when she saw them together. Eventually she realized it was jealousy, jealousy at seeing anyone who had found the love that so many searched for – including herself. Now she just wanted them to be safe.

Draco could see the tightness on his mother’s face. “We won’t be staying long, only the holidays. Molly Weasley invited us for Christmas.”  
  


Narcissa’s mouth thinned. She raised her chin an inch into the air. “Did she?”

“She’s very supportive,” Harry defended quickly. “All of the Weasleys are, really. Hermione and Ron always ask how Draco is in their letters.”

Narcissa’s expression remained the same but she turned it to her plate. “And those without red-hair, what do they think?”

Harry tilted his head, confused. Draco seemed to catch on before he could. “Andromeda was a bit cold the first time we spoke but she asked about you.”

Narcissa’s head snapped up. “She did?”

He nodded. “I told her you’ve been living here. She sounded a bit concerned.”

Her eyes grew distant, sliding slowly to the wide windows which looked out into the street below. “I stopped sending her letters. None of it seemed to be working.”

“Maybe something a bit more personal will help,” Harry suggested. All eyes turned to him. “She always told me whenever you sent something. I think she was touched but just too stubborn to admit it. It may help if you speak to her in person.”

Narcissa shook her head rapidly, flapping her hand. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I doubt Molly would want me there.”

“Draco and I are going to the Burrow for Christmas Eve,” Harry said, “but we can invite her and Teddy over on Christmas day. I usually visit them anyway.”

Her eyes flicked back to Harry. She tried to maintain an indifferent mask but he could see the hope in her gaze. “If it’s not an imposition….”

“It’s not,” Harry spoke bluntly. When it came to matters such as this, Harry had quickly learned that it was better to not beat around the bush. Malfoys certainly knew how to ask for something without actually saying it.

The corner of Narcissa’s mouth lifted. “Then it’s settled.”

Draco gave a squeeze to Harry’s hand and Harry could spot the gratitude in his eyes. “Yes, it is.”

* * *

“Thank you again, Molly.” Harry couldn’t stop himself from continually thanking Mrs. Weasley ever since they arrived at the burrow with Narcissa Malfoy in tow.

When they arrived in London, Harry had sent a letter to the Weasleys to assure them that they’d arrived. He’d also mentioned that Narcissa had come but was staying at Grimmauld during the party. Of course, Molly Weasley had too much compassion to let that stand.

The motherly woman patted his arm. “It’s really okay dear,” she urged for the tenth time. “No one deserves to sit at home alone on Christmas. Though,” she glanced at the woman who sat alone with perfect posture at the dining table, “I expect that she’d prefer it.”

Harry shook his head profusely. “It means a lot to her. It means a lot to all of us.”

Molly smiled and squeezed his arm. “Of course. Everyone deserves a little compassion near the holidays. Besides, I’m too chuffed about Percy and Audrey’s engagement to let anything bother me today.”

It had apparently been a much anticipated announcement though Harry had been somewhat out of the loop during his travels. It was so anticipated, in fact, that Molly had invited even more people than usual although that was somewhat of a gradual development over the years. In addition to everyone who had come for Harry’s party, there were also several Order members and Hogwarts staff in attendance.

Thankfully, despite the firm chill in the air, no snow had settled and therefore gave them room outside to for everyone to spread out. Harry got out of Molly’s way in the kitchen and went to join the others. He was delighted to see Draco fitting in well already, stood with Hermione and Audrey likely in some rapt discussion about a book.

He was about to join them when a very familiar, strict voice caught his attention. “Mr. Potter, could I have a word?”

There was a sharp jolt of guilt down his spine as if he’d just gotten caught getting into trouble. It was a natural reaction considering who had called him. He turned to the stern faced witch. “Head Mistress,” Harry greeted with a sheepish smile.

It’d been a half urge to hug the woman upon seeing her when he arrived. He’d only seen McGonagall in brief passing over the summers since the war had ended. It was never enough. He had never once gotten the chance to properly tell her just how much he admired the woman. Any time he did see her, it seemed a silly thing to say at random.

“You’re a very tricky man to track down, Mr. Potter,” she said, a hint of amusement in her gaze as it flickered towards Draco. “You always did have such a fascination with Mr. Malfoy...” she hummed thoughtfully. “Of course, professors never gossip.”

For a moment, Harry lost all function in his lungs. Was she really saying what he thought she was? Had the professors been gossiping about him and Draco while they were at school? Once her words settled, a broken laugh fell out of his mouth. Why was he surprised, it was Hogwarts after all? “Of course they don’t,” he said through easing chortles.

“You could always see for yourself.”

McGonagall’s expression remained cool. He was still restraining his laughter as his mind worked out her words. “Excuse me?”

“I heard that you resigned from your position at the Auror’s Office and,” she straightened the black sleeves protruding from her emerald green robe, “it just so happens that I find myself in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Dawlish has done a wonderful job these last few years but, as he keeps reminding me, he only took it as a temporary position.”

Once again, Harry was left speechless as he stared at his former head of house. Her words made sense but it took him a moment to piece them together and find the proper meaning. “Are you- Are you offering me a job?”

She twitched a single brow. “Yes, that is what I assumed I was doing. I think you are certainly qualified to do so.”

“I-” He couldn’t fathom words.

She raised her hand to silence him. “You don’t have to give me an answer now. At the very earliest, it won’t be until next September. I may be able to persuade Dawlish to do another year if you still have some plans in motion.” She glanced at Draco again.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry nodded rapidly. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve made a decision.”

“That would be much appreciated,” she said. “Now, I won’t keep you any longer.”

She started to walk away. Harry was still reeling from everything he’d just been told; however, a thought still managed to wiggle its way into the forefront of his mind. “McGonagall.” She paused and looked back. “Thank you.” Her head tilted quizzically and he tried to put as much earnest into his voice as possible. “Thank you for everything.”

_Thank you_ for being there when he was brought to the Dursleys that night as Hagrid years later had revealed to him. _Thank you_ for inspiring Harry to play quidditch. _Thank you_ for standing up for him against Umbridge and believing he was capable of being an Auror. _Thank y_ ou for being just as much of a mother to him as Molly was and, at times, maybe even more so.

Her face softened gradually. A smile he’d only seen rarely and which had always humbled him to be the source of curved her mouth. “Thank _you_ , Mr. Potter.”

She waded over towards a small group of Hogwarts professors who were chatting. Hagrid gave Harry a wave which he returned. He wanted to talk to him too but he needed to speak to Draco about all of this first. Every one of his nerves was buzzing the longer he thought about it.

It must have been evident on his face because Draco instantly commented when he approached. “What happened?”

Harry went to answer but he paused as he looked at Hermione and Audrey. He wanted to tell them all, especially Hermione, but he considered that he should likely discuss it with his partner first. “Come in side with me?”

Hermione and Draco shared uncertain glances. Harry offered the girl a smile. “It’s nothing bad. I’ll tell you later but we need to talk first.” Hermione nodded, a little unnerved, but offering a smile nonetheless.

Harry took Draco’s hand and led him towards the house. No one so much as gave them a funny look. Ron called if they wanted to join a game of quidditch and Harry assured they’d be out in a little bit. He led Draco through the kitchen door.

“…Arthur and I have been a few times in our earlier days but it’s been years. Oh, boys, are you all right?” Molly turned away from what appeared to have been a fairly good conversation between her and Narcissa.

“Perfect,” Harry assured. He started to lead Draco towards the sitting room.

Draco paused as they passed his mother. “All right?” he asked her.

She patted the hand he placed on her shoulder, a smile on her lips. “I’m just fine. Go on, I think your boyfriend is about to jump out of his skin.” She and Molly laughed as Harry turned a light color of pink.

Nonetheless, he continued to tug Draco into the other room. No one was there as expected. They sat on the sofa together. “Now what is it that has you pulling me around?” Draco demanded once they were finally still.

“McGonagall’s offered me a job,” it came out in a rush.

Draco blinked at him for a long moment. “As…”

Harry’s face deadpanned. “As a house elf in the kitchens,” he huffed. “As a professor, you git. The Dark Arts position to be exact.”

“That…” Draco trailed off, still blinking as if it was mind trying to rest. “That actually makes a modicum of sense.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked. He wasn’t sure if did or not. Could he even teach? Sure he’d done it for Dumbledore’s Army but that had been different, hadn’t it? He remembered the swell of pride each time one of his friends performed a new spell he taught, especially ones they had trouble with. He remembered the way he admired Remus and Dumbledore and McGonagall, herself. Could he be that for someone? Instead of being a distant hero, could he actually inspire the next generation to think critically and be a good memory for even one kid?

Before they could get into any deep discussion, they heard a gasp from the kitchen. “Cissy?”

Draco was on his feet first, Harry right behind him. They found Andromeda standing in the doorway of the house. A trembling hand clutched tightly to Teddy’s hand as she gaped at the blond woman standing across from her.

“Hello, Dromeda,” Narcissa greeted softly.

“Uncle Harry, Draco!” Teddy exclaimed. Andromeda jumped at surprise and released his hand. He ran across the room at the two men. Harry quickly swept him off the floor to pull him into a hug. When they pulled apart, Teddy’s eyes were green. He grinned madly at Draco, the roots of his hair beginning to lighten. “Hya, Dray.” Draco waved though a bit sheepishly.

Harry readjusted the three-year-old on his hip as he looked back at the two sisters. “We’ll leave you two to talk,” he said if not a bit awkwardly. “I’ve got Teddy.”

“Yes, I think the roast still needs some time in the oven,” spoke Molly. “I’ll see how everyone is doing.”

They all shuffled carefully past Andromeda who barely moved to give them enough room to pass. Silence remained behind them, but as Draco mumbled once they were out of earshot, “It’s better than screaming.”

Ron jogged over, a look of fright on his face. “Sorry, Mate. I tried to beat her inside to warn you but she wasn’t having it.”

“It’s okay, they need to talk,” Harry assured. He had to readjust Teddy again. He could tell it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t carry him around like this anymore.

“Hey there, Teddy,” Ron greeted, making Teddy grin. “I see you’re getting experimental with your hair.” Most of Teddy’s head had gone a white-blond color although the tips remained cyan. “It kind of fits…” Ron trailed off. His eyes had traveled to the man holding him, spotting their matching emerald eyes and then the man beside him whose hair was almost the same as the child’s. “Hm, who would have thought you two had a kid before the rest of us.”

Harry nearly dropped Teddy. He and Draco looked at each other with wide eyes and then down at the child between them. He really did look like their child right now.

Ron looked between the two red faced in front of him. He put both of his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you both. I was only joking around.”

Harry decided to put Teddy down before he nearly dropped him again. “Yeah, yeah, we know,” he assured as rubbed the back of his neck.

Seeming to take into account the awkward air between the adults, Teddy began to tug on Draco’s sleeve. “Come look for gnome’s with me.”

Seeing an easy out, Draco took the child’s offer and allowed himself to be guided to the frosted garden.

“Sorry about that, Mate,” Ron sighed.

Harry chuckled. “It’s all right. We haven’t really talked about the future yet. It’s been nice just,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “not caring.” Harry crossed his arms, the cool air suddenly feeling as if it dropped a degree or two. He scuffed his toe at the dirt. “Even if we did have that talk, there’s not much help in the kids department for us. From experience, I’d say there’s no such thing as an adoption center or orphanage in the wizarding world.” He glanced at Ron almost hopefully.

Ron shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever heard of.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never really thought about it though.”

Harry watched as Teddy pointed at the rows of plants, talking so animatedly that he reminded Harry of someone else. Draco knelt beside him, appearing to be listening very intently. Harry couldn’t help but smile even as he felt a dull ache in his chest.

He’d never really considered being a father. He took to his responsibilities with Teddy naturally but he never considered that parenting. He could always hand him back to Andromeda whenever he wanted. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be good at it. It wasn’t as if he had any good examples. He didn’t consider Vernon Dursley a good example for a second. Faces like Dumbledore, Arthur, and Hagrid popped into his head but none sat quite right. Sirius was the closest he’d ever gotten to a father but that had been fleeting.

Maybe that’s what also made it a distant dream of his though. That he could do for someone else what no one could do for him. He knew he wasn’t the only wizarding child who grew up in the muggle world without a single person around to tell him what he was. Tom Riddle, of all people, was an example.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about the future.

* * *

The last bell of the year wrung loud and clear through the halls of Hogwarts. “Have a good summer,” Harry called, giving a wave.

“Goodbye, Professor Potter,” several kids said in farewell. A few more echoed his wishes. He waved and said goodbye until they were all out of the classroom.

With a languid sigh, he sat back at the chunky desk at the front of the room that he’d come to recognize as his own. He decided to get a head start on finishing up some of the final exam grades. The soon he got it over with, the sooner he could enjoy his summer.

After a few hours, he began to feel like he was going cross-eyed. He decided to call it a night.

He collected his papers and what little things couldn’t stay there all summer. He’d leave the confiscated Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products for the house-elves to take care of. They were becoming very good at knowing how to disarm many of the jinxes and surprise traps that kept adults away – Harry was certain George was adding more just for Harry’s sake.

With his desk marginally cleared off, he left the classroom. He started towards his chambers to drop off his things before going to the final feast but his feet slowed at the same spot they always did. He paused then looked up at the fifty or so names carved into the wall beneath the words BATTLE OF HOGWARTS MEMORIAL. There were too many to have a portrait of each but several people had their portraits littered around the castle.

Harry had heard Hufflepuffs speaking of the great advice Cedric Diggory gave in their common room as well as more than few prank ideas that had come from the metamorphmagus in the portrait beside him. All of the portraits shuttered when she and Fred Weasley from the Gryffindor common room spent any amount of time together. McGonagall threatened to close up passage between portraits after the great portrait prank wars of 2002 when after Marauders had been immortalized in their own portrait together.

“I can’t help but stop when I pass here too,” a voice spoke up. It was Neville. He had a sad smile as he joined Harry in front of the memorial. “Seven years… Do you think it’s ever going to stop hurting?”

Harry shook his head. “I hope not. That would mean we’ve forgotten about them.”

He sighed and tore his eyes off of Remus Lupin’s name. “So, how was your first year? Regret it yet?”

Neville laughed. “Oh every day,” he teased, sending a chortle of Harry’s mouth. “Actually, it was bloody brilliant. I missed talking about plants.”

Harry raised his brows. “Did you ever stop?”

Neville rolled his eyes and shoved Harry’s shoulder. “Oh sod off.”

Harry put his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I don’t have to live with it. It’s poor Hannah I feel bad for. It’s a good thing she owns a pub, free boos.”

“I’d insult you back but from what I’ve seen your husband can take care of that for me.”

Neville burst out laughing the moment Harry’s jaw dropped. “And to think I invited you to the wedding!” Harry exclaimed as Neville started to walk away.

Neville turned back. “Who else is going to grow you fifty lily and narcissus center pieces in a week?”

“That was not my doing!”

Neville only continued to chuckle, waving back over his shoulder as he kept walking.

Harry shook his head but couldn’t restrain the smile on his face. With one last fleeting glance at the names on the wall, he proceeded to his chambers.

* * *

Harry had just dropped off the last of his final grades with McGonagall. After a brief talk about the school year and the year to come, Harry was free to pack up and head out. He’d already said his goodbyes, mostly to Hagrid, and was able to Floo into the Leaky Cauldron just after noon.

Instead of going straight to his destination, he decided to stop by Diagon Alley and pick up a few things for the house. He paused outside of Flourish and Blotts. What was the name of that book Draco had been talking about?

There was a small gasp to his left then a rushed, horribly muffled, “It’s Harry Potter!”

“Mum, shush, it’s just Professor Potter,” whined Marina Oakwood from her mother’s elbow. “Let him shop in peace.” Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d half to remember to thank the Ravenclaw when school started up again.

After a few purchases, Harry walked back through the Leaky Cauldron into the streets of London. It wasn’t a bad day for a walk.

He knew his way by heart. Before long he was standing on Grimmauld Place, watching number twelve shove its neighboring houses aside. The steps were still worn but the battered front door had a fresh coat of paint and the serpent knocker had been replaced by a regular, bronze ring. He watched as the small sign stuck in the prosperous flowerbeds dropped down to show the words POTTER MEMORIAL ORPHANAGE.

With a swipe of his wand, the door opened. Laughing hit his ears the moment he entered. A small girl too young for Hogwarts came whizzing down the stairs, a boy who was just a bit older right behind her.

“Hey, what have I said about running in the halls,” called a plump-faced witch from the top of the stairs. They were already around the corner and out of sight though. The woman’s eyes lit up when she spotted Harry. “Oh! Hello, Professor.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Craft. I’ve only come to check in on things on my way home,” he told her. She started down the stairs which no longer were covered by the tattered runner, revealing glossy hardwood that matched the new, sturdy handrail. “How have the kids settled back in?”

“Just fine, Lizzy’s already asking if she can go to her friend’s house for the weekend though.”

Harry sighed. “Those two are inseparable in school as well. I’ll send a letter Mrs. Grouse and see what we can set up.”

Ms. Craft’s eyes flitted to the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. “Barmy, is it that time already? The kids haven’t had lunch yet.”

“I’ll get Maggie and Lucas, you get the rest,” Harry told her. Ms. Craft was an excellent matron however summers were always hectic when her amount of charges doubled after returning from Hogwarts. This was why Harry tried to stop by at least twice a week to help out.

“Oh, thank you, Professor.” She turned back up the steps to get the rest of the kids.

Harry started down the entry hall. It had taken some great effort but the portrait of Walburga Black had finally been removed. All of the rotting wallpaper had been torn down and replaced with fresh coats of taupe paint which was slowly being covered by pictures of the children who lived there.

He entered what was once the formal dining room. It was now a sitting room with plush chairs and sofa to greet anyone looking to adopt. The original china cabinet remained but it now stored the children’s accolades such as quidditch or academic awards.

He wasn’t even in the room yet before Lucas attempted to tear off past him, Maggie on his tail. Harry caught them both in his arms and lifted them off the ground half an inch, causing them both to fill with giggles. “Time for lunch guys, head downstairs.”

“But we’re playing tag,” Lucas whined.

“Well I caught you both so I guess I’m it,” said Harry. “You better get downstairs before I catch you.”

Delighted by this turn of events, they both sprung from his arms and ran towards the basement door. “Careful! No running!” he urged as he followed them down.

The kitchen was already alive before they got down there. Pots and pans banged as the meal was prepared. They’d decided to hire a few more house-elves and Kreacher had quickly taken to being the head elf of the household. The cavernous room was likely the least changed, mostly for Kreacher’s comfort since it was where he spent the most time. At the very least, it had gotten a good scrubbing and was child proofed as a kitchen could be.

“Is Professor Potter having lunch also?” Kreacher asked when he spotted Harry.

Harry shook his head. “Just passing through.”

Feet pounded on the stone steps and four other children of varying ages came down, Ms. Craft right behind them.

“Oh, Jacob, the Hogwarts elves found this in the Gryffindor common room.” Harry opened his bag and pulled out a red jacket he’d recognized in the lost-and-found pile.

The thirteen-year-old’s eyes lit up. “That’s where that went!”

He reached for the jacket but Harry held on for a moment longer. “What have I said about being careful where you leave things?”

Jacob’s face went pink. “Sorry, Professor.”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed. Jacob shuffled over to the table, tugging the jacket over his arms as he went. “Well, I came to do what I planned. I’ll be off then. I’ll be back in a day or two.”

“Wait, you’re still it!” Maggie called after him.

Harry glanced at the matron who raised a brow. “Right, well,” he tapped Jacob on the shoulder. “Jake is it now. Have a good day.”

“Harry Potter!” Ms. Craft’s scolding lingered in the flames behind him even after he hopped into the Floo.

The acrid scent of the ash faded as soon as he stepped out of the less ornate fireplace. He took stock of the room he’d stepped into. It hadn’t changed much since he’d seen it during Easter break. The small settee was mostly untouched; a blanket was rumpled in the sitting chair beside it with a new book on the round table between them.

After the contract had gone out on the apartment in London and Grimmauld underwent construction, Harry and Draco had decided to find a new place for them to settle – after they’d finished traveling the Mediterranean coast. They’d found a cottage in Devon, only a short apparition from the burrow. They had neighbors but they were hidden between trees and bushes, giving them plenty of breadth to practice magic without too much concern.

It was a quaint little house. There was enough space to move about but nothing that was too difficult to maintain on their own. Kreacher occasionally popped by to do the cleaning if he was feeling generous – Harry figured it was just his excuse to get away from the kids when they were feeling rambunctious. The ground floor was mostly made up of the sitting room and the kitchen. Upstairs there was a bath and two bedrooms – one for Draco and Harry and one for Teddy.

Harry followed the sound of a bubbling kettle into the next room. A smile stretched his face when he spotted the familiar lean form leaning against the counter.

“Good afternoon,” Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist.

Draco wasn’t startled. He hummed presently and leaned back into Harry’s hold. “Welcome home. Tea?”

He pulled the kettle off of the stove and began to pour the boiling water into two waiting mugs. Harry buried his face into Draco’s neck. Beneath the various potion ingredients which lingered on his clothes, he could smell their shampoo and that crisp scent that was purely Draco. He sighed, content. He was home. “I rather have something else,” he purred.

Draco chuckled. “Four years and you’re still insatiable.”

“I haven’t seen you in months,” Harry wined. “Besides, we only have a week before Andy drops off Teddy for the summer.”

Draco stirred honey into each of the cups. “It’s a good thing I got the week off then.”

Harry perked up. “Really?”

Draco nodded, bringing one of the cups up to his mouth to taste. He put it down and added more honey. “It’s the beauty of being done with residency; I can finally take some time off. That and I am the best damn healer they have so they need to keep me happy.”

“Of course you are, Healer _Malfoy_.”

Draco scoffed. “Stop being bitter. You didn’t go through healer training and your name has plenty of good things tagged onto it, let mine have this.”

Harry pretended to pout. “Fine but according to the Ministry of Magic, it is Potter-Malfoy.”

“And do you go by Professor Potter-Malfoy?”

“Well…”

“Mhm, so shush and drink your tea.”

Harry sighed by took the mug nonetheless. He stepped to the side so he wouldn’t risk spilling the hot liquid on Draco but maintained a hand on the small of his back. They sipped quietly together. The only sound was the chirping of birds outside the kitchen window and the crackle of the fading fire in the other room.

His cup mostly finished, Harry placed it back on the counter and returned to showing his husband affection. Draco only laughed as Harry peppered his face and neck with kisses. When he finally finished his own drink, Draco turned in his arms just enough to catch Harry’s lips with his own. They were still warm from the tea and sweet from the honey.

This was the only part he didn’t like about being a professor. He had to go far too long without seeing Draco though they did usually meet up in Hogesmede for weekends as often as they could. Then again, it only made their reunions sweeter.

They could bear to sleep apart though. The nightmares weren’t as frequent, more of a rarity that could easily be washed away with a brief letter to one another. Draco loved being a healer. Now when people stopped him in the streets, it was to thank him for helping them with their ailments. Harry was still admired but it was usually by parents who thanked him for helping their children through school. No one had anything to say anymore when they walked hand-in-hand through Diagon Alley. They all knew they were too strong to let mere words hurt them anymore.

Harry pulled back from their lazy kiss to admire Draco through hooded eyes. He couldn’t even fathom how he’d gotten here. Over four years ago he’d been a stumbling drunk and now he didn’t even remembered what liquor tasted like. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Draco titled his head, a smile playing on his lips. “For what?”

“Helping me heal.”

Draco’s smile stretched. “We healed together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such an amazing story to write. I have never fallen so in love with a story nor written one this quickly before. I started it and January and it's just now April and I’m done, that’s just insane for me. This is probably the story that I am most proud of writing and I have written several on other platforms. It’s so bazaar to think that I started it as a little ‘what if’ scenario of Harry bringing takeout to Draco. I’ve appreciated all of the support I have gotten along the way. If you’ve read this story and it touched you at all, please share it. It sort of took a life of its own and I think it touched on some important topics that should be talked about. Feel free to come find me on tumblr or wattpad: @smokinggun369


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